So, all rappers beware I bare the tactical tier higher it's practical here, the rappers who fears fire will need access to gear...

Some hood shit, could flip pages up...
Engage these little razor bumps that will fucking fillet you chumps...
Nah, back of the mind.. enough weight to crackle the spine
like a defense linemen who tackles behind the practicing line...
Cause that's how my rap is defined....
A captured design pictured and passed to the prime essence
of every line sentence sitting in his mind presence...
There's no finding a key... you see it idling inside of the hole
by the drivers seat... so a question for you is why compete?
I find the beat of the drum and fall asleep in it, son
Fall asleep on the Sun...
You got the heat conjured piece in the lung... I breathe it
and run any MC out the slums...
That's the consequence... any one not packing common sense?
Hah... they die too... that's the gist of it...
A sly dude, my instruments are minds grouped to network every rhyme looped...
So, all rappers beware I bare the tactical tier higher
it's practical here, the rappers who fears fire will need access to gear...
Why not? The fly spot, see the bird shit....
Deserve flipping every dictionary word, watch the verbs hit...
On the curve, how I preserve wit...
Just typing... fuck up a face for any runner that's stuck in his place...
I mean if you really want breathing? No room... a
heathen who looms around screaming that's he's in the Legion of Doom!
Like Animal and Hawk... I'm a Planet on a Rock...
yes... the loch ness of hip hop just dropping his top text...
The lock on the spot? Pressed down into iron
and forged... like firing wars my desires the entire discourse...
And now the sire is bored...
Every rhyme that he soared down from the higher porch is just lying, ain't no buyers remorse...