Every second I get older the devil on my shoulder grows but the angel grows older, time aligns by what I’ve written, designs advised by my decisions, dimes aside, I try to abide life by openly defying collisions. Twice lightning strikes my eyesight so these delights thy fight my visions. Speaking like a heathen, state my case and they call it treason, don’t need rappers to show reason, even in fall, when I add my special sauce I change seasons, flows come from the pockets, money stays in hold, I’m so fly my wifi always on airplane mode. Flows come from self love, lately for rappers leave their veins cold. Staring down my arrogance, first glare makes me imperative to the narrative, born with Logic like Maryland. Telling myself to make a salary, as an artist I have yet to paint a gallery, create reality though the cold climb like George Mallory. Take the fallacy’s, write what’ll happen and it leaves bros frozen instead of spinning their dome like ballerinas. My dialect will confuse most, time ticking, you don’t want that fuse blown, dissolved my old flows and evolved with a rude tone, I’m simple with some sugar like glucose, always been the kid that had to do the most, my writers block makes me disabled for days but then I’m back harder like how the flu goes, taking smack on my raps, I’ll tap ya glass and it ain’t for a new toast. But I’m half blacked out from my lack of kudos. Match up couldn’t keep himself planted like Pluto, agony for scrolling after skewed post after skewed post, losers getting loose to Lucy’s doings make me lose hope.