[Mr. J]

The beast from the sands from the Eastern Lands
complete with a bag full of goodies, foolish in a hoodie
eating beets from tin cans while you weep in my hands
you late on tight types, pullin hooky while Im pullin rookies
to break it down simply you can fit a semi in yo type
with mine I could barely fit a quarter into the windpipe
when I pen like I been off the hook for days I wait...
catch another case brought to you by the lure of Christ
Im impure by vice I dont even know the next line Ill write
Im high off life while you catching a buzz of Miller lite
right...right...I send a nickel to the bone collector
put coins on your eyes whenever your soul is defective
my role as the selector of life will melt you whole detective
me & my squad roll respected, I live in a solo profession
stacking dolo so check it, got credit & vice versa
I write my work on a page of the constitution passin the pressure
Im a national treasure packed into your perspective
boredom is back....I only have a night to correct it...