Writing myself in circular logic, I won't stop
It seems, until I take a plot on the writer's block.
Acknowledging disruption, however do I function
With the need to bleed truth like the consumption
Of reciprocation? If recognition is that addictive
Bet my diction stays cryptic right until I get it.
Sadly, with rhyme as the gimmick, I live trapped
With desires born to write more: I admit that.
******** all you niggaz i came to win
Even if i have to commit thousands of sin
But it don't matter i don't give a ********
Now give me the keys and get out the ******** truck
I have no limit i do what i feel like doing
I like to rap but as a career i'm not pursing
Now i got go to my room and beat off
******** you cause i know your really soft
This **** get's real.
Nothing on my basis gets surreal!
Imagine all the promises
We end up banging hostesses
And we line up like promises
Doing the things like we are bosses
The microphone is bleeding you should
take it from me smile
All Ive been reading is wackness, I do this for real you do this for fun/
Your fat chicks back cracks and fat dents look like an arachnid if it was a tattoo that didnt heal for 2 months/ Xk Wreckem, Texas battle League, Ive done this for years and years, Ever since I was young/ So grab your gear, before I snatch your funds , dispatch the thugs and collect huge sums.