I can't ascertain as to why ya'll writing wit me
I'll take your girl, and broadcast me castrating the broad while I F her right in the P
as certain, my words come alive and take on the form of a masked merchant
alas worship, forever moor the poet, the black warship
smooth as the operator manueverin' attack forces through mapped courses
tailored for brash coarseness, size you up within a fit of rage
my chicken scratches will kill you, that's why after each rough draft I R.I.P the page
you can count on these shells following through
that's a 7, 6, and 2
or I can have opposed thumbs on both lungs till they collapse and you follow suit
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