I’m drinkin a beer again… cause something is wrong with me
Inkin these lyrics when drunk and I’m vomiting
Need a frontal lobotomy more than a bottle in front of me
But my style is so sick I need a doctor to cut in me
My noggin is dumb with these... I’m nutty with flows
Got nausea from stomaching the ones that we wrote
No wonder we gross, and rhymes is just horror
The lump’s in my throat from viral disorders
My mind is distorted and kinda retarded
And the lines of my poems would widely support it
Highly contorted, the style is so twisted
With a variety assortment of rhyming conditions
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My syllable count approximately a billion, bounce. You cannot compete.
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