an ill lyricist, practice not a pill, theyd kill for hearin this from the lipses, i blots out the sun wif eclipses, oh here i come, fuck the bitches, painting pretty pitchers, pen finger itches, i send for the scriptures, rap be my misses, attack then he switches his elixers, takes aim an never misses, said I'd get Yas, so I will, dead in ditches, got the skill, its the dark that is calling, a spark an im fallin, apart,