So think about that for a second, I'm a practical weapon of mass destruction, latched in a jet and blasting over Castro's defense men...

I like sickness... I write with a tight fitness
regimen, I just get it in... no anabolic or medicine...
Trust me... hard in the paint, the bars are my strength... arms curls on the reg.
pick up a keg' quicker than ever...
lifting the lever off of the tip... Hugo Weaving, with a different Vendetta...
Holding the plane in the air, ready to balance it...
whatever the case may be? I'm thinking of this, waiting to land...
Anything feisty to kick this vacation off hand...
Time and space is the plan, I'm completely devoid of in between
Spitting off the top, going ham and living the sinners dream...
Then confession awaits.... I profess I'm a great, he doesn't listen...
Robbed of my goodwill, but if you see my content, there's nothing missing...
So think about that for a second, I'm a practical weapon
of mass destruction, latched in a jet and blasting over Castro's defense men...
My mental is an asteroid, colliding to earth when rhyming a verse...
And I'm tired, the thirst that's perspired over time is the worst...
You know? I got these migraines like, standing inside flames
Without a suit... Jack Spartan coming out the Ice Block
to face Simon Phoenix... yeah... the same effect... it hurts more...
All I see is more pawns that I can score on...
And it won't be before long that the resurrection comes...
And I gotta suit up my motherfuckers like Voltron...