fuck rhyme'n, ya'll can't even breathe with me
I'm a virus in the booth, call the CDC
see round town, i'm known to snatch mic's
spit.. and freestyle chapters of past lifes
who is he? shit, some'll say plain
but son's flows' like a runaway train
motherfuck game, i'm the box it comes in
a few shots of somethin, just to function
grave plots and dungeons, nigga I get deep
archive hundreds of bars in dead sleep
cooler then ya bed sheets, im focused son
ride'n on the track till them locust's come
see my feet shake the ground like thunder do
and my words burn my throat, 200 proof
spitting till my lungs go poof, hocus pocus
my verse's where the bible's oldest scrolls is
just a trained killer under soldiers orders
hotter than the sun's summer solstice scorches
I hold them torches, so ya'll can see the way
tapped into that brain matter beneath the gray
keep thinkin you nice, go head admire ya self
I feel the same way, I only inspire myself
straight murderer, running from siren's at 12
destined to hear the scream'n choirs of hell
while im on this earth the seeds been planted
stretchin flows till i leave this planet
long before my mothers grief and panic
BeeGee that sick nigga from the East Atlantic
it never stops...