Clay pigeon ya family. My stage presence like Rain's finisher, transitioned into a game-ending Fatality.
Cyclone crescent kick, battle rap not even Zygote's pen could script.
Fightin me's like tryna weave Tiger Knees, standin up into Iron Sheik's Camel Clutch. Or standing w/ Klitschko in the staggering grip of Anderson's clinch hold. Got box control like a classic Nintendo that'll shatter your ribs in a massive crescendo. My swag lives forever, keep the mask & Beretta w/ a flask full'a Devil's Cut.
my thought process gave Jungian philosophy a frontal lobotomy.
woof. probably one of your best yet. i actually had skimmed it until i hit that last line and it was the reason i decided to re-read closely and really discover the gemstones above.
really ridiculous rhyme-work
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Zack Wicks for president
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