[Mr. J]

I'm a tickin' time bomb sniffin' Lysol
sunk in a couch where I'm kickin' my thoughts
twistin' some jars, gettin' em' sauced...
this offense, guard your center, step forward
this a mild texture with my chips bent & sore
smooth when that combination met the score
pull pressure, more, see what you steppin' toward?
at the neck with swords, & up next is yours...
I'm in the stand with a thumb pointing down...
if only you could see how it was all going down
but you in a black bag now & looking stressed...tough..
look at the difference of how we're dressing up
you a thief & I'm of higher class steadily sexing sluts
to the head you struck as your chest started flexing up
either way you not the type to be stepping up...
look how you ended up, asphyxiated...