Boisterous melancholy
I put cement blocks on ya feet, and drop you in a quarry.
Just to change the pace of things, cuz the mundane bore me.
Birds migratin´, a few feathers worse for wear.
Affectin elevation n´ formation, as they plunge thru the air.
It´s tonz of it here, and my swag is airborne.
I´m fly fresh witta them syllables, tight gear, ya shit look worn!
I´m crackk! Pipin hot, dawg. These cats don´t even LOOK warm!
Thinkin they sick, cuz got they li´l 8´s, (aids), (short verses 8 bars).
But I got BOOKS for ´em! (I got bars for days if need be).
I just spazz out, n´ lash out, fukka decorum! Ya´ll been forewarned.
I refuse to conform! There´s no staving off disaster.
This couldn´t be foreborne.
It´s hurricane season, Everytime I brainstorm!
I got, blades like Blade, n´ I´m slayin´ the norm.
I don´t rap no more, just spittin my hurt n´ pain in rhyme form!
I´m pickin´ fights with old people. Screwface ´em, tell ´em -it´s ON!
Induce a chardiac, then I just stay. N´ whatch ´em ´til they gone!
N´ I can´t call it. So I´mma let you tell it.
The lonely life of the squalid, shun by society.
I´m ridin designated shot gun! Fuck a sobriety!!
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