[Pent uP]

Redded-eye logic & congested-like coughin from hella high chronic -
You're lucky if you'd get to die off it - but I keep the genocide flawless
- Murdering rappers with superlative factors in the set of rhymes offered.
You're pressed behind, walking - prison rules - handling only the cleft of my pocket.
I'm pressure - nine rockets - to your Smith N Wesson line's blockage.
Pent is psychotic - wrestling cylcops' in desert-mine moshpits.
I'm breaded like Shulz is - Making millions after my death.
I aint dead yet though - got the contentious soul that rap resurrects.
Got your chick on her knees from mistletoe leaves strapped to my belt -
thick white spit from her cheeks drips and it leaks while she's gasping for help
like its dutch oven, singular - you go out smelling like McLovin after a fucking prison term.
How I know you're gay: You giving your blood-cousins gift of sperm.
I love cum guzzling single girls - who take the wood deep in their favorite hoody
while I stay slaying pussy harder than drunken euthanasia rookies.