whip my wrist hold my shots im the shit i work with it and im always down. i always floss wake up from dreams of the ground being a target i dont stop. thrown punchs at nothing. wake up gotta check my knuckles if its true. likewise im feeling rested but never feelin better. sour tangie fills my breath as i throw some more. its helps me more than the pills these doctors swear upon, them givin me life and no son. sometimes hip hop is a second chance. maintain tranquility while i wake up an my beat book is mixxed up im mixed up. looking for a fix up i mix sticky dust not white rocks and smoke em dont elope em. bitch pulls strings i hope i dont have an attack an episode ill end up coming forward an pokin er ive lost that battle and thats what it takes for me to learn a bit slow but i roll on my flow.