He's coming 7.13 pm - computer screen buzzingThere's blood on the floorThe music scene rastas and future street hustlersWhispers, cocking of guns and sobbing.. He's comingMy name is Hwa - You little kids don't know meI never sold weed on cold streets.. or wrote 'peace'I make fire out of ice and admire out of doubtsName means hiphop or atleast what it once was aboutI gave you permission to watch my personal Hell rise, Before you small minded fucks learned how to spell rightI started writing back in the old times of lowridesBefore every line was half bitten from myspace profilesI dominated and raised the standard for the averageBut I got tired of battlesSwapped RBG for Seven's TravelsTook spex under my wing; and 9/11 happenedShit, microwave just beeped - feeding timeJust popped in to say: Hello and fuck your feeble minds