Sunday, December 6, 2009

And you can't come back.

Get your head straight, I got swimmers faster than you waiting to impregnate!
If you're spewing about that then get yourself a bucket,
Cos I just had one, just admit you're shamed, fuck it.

"Another bit the dust, dusted out sherm kid on the learn" said Sid.
Sid was brutal, unleashing smashed in windows and death stares to anyone in his path.
Although if he didn't do it his way, the faggots would laugh,
and not that uppity shit, I mean the steady answer to the question.

Speak to Eve in the Garden? I had her up against the tree, Snake slithering silently.
You're running from doctors, imagine watching you running from police!
Reckon just 'cos you rock Nikes you assume you got status, you need practice
If you just in this for show, you gotta go cos the breed Sid bred was out of the bag with knives waving in front of your nasty nose. Reality took his away a long time ago, there was no need for the new drugs people were dabbling in.

If you haven't noticed my mother found me one of my old iPods from 04/05/06,
fucking summin like that.
Was real family bonding shit like you stomped though your next level shocking wit.

Kick in the door. Remember that from 06? At McIver? Had a bit of a real run.
I had that whole area under lock like you were getting fucked up the arse by Billy D's brother. If you ain't in that lodge then the realism, the sudden "haha" of your conscience. If life is only one step closer to death, then every lightglobe you ever inhaled with baited breath.

Elation like finding a full deck at the station.
What'd be you're the purpose of your reactions?
I'll leave everyone behind once I burnt you to cinders,
I'd rather shake hands with the boys than put up with you Linda.
Drawn into my diagram because now you know who ROUNDED UP YOU GEEZERS,
Can't you see this shit cunt, I rise like Buttercup BREAD MADE BY JESUS.

I'm the shooting you like a television interview, so sliced bread was sliced with the Slim Shady of the SS squad. I'm back for real, and I've heard more voices than you've had hot dinners, Sid thought to himself.

Nice try.
I'll convert you with a mere glace.
All the preppy models wanna be Vice, make mine a Grapefruit juice,
with three cubes of ice.
Slice, sealed and signed, I gave you this and you left me behind. So I stepped up to the plate like a demon mate, and like Family Guy's rendition of Boyz in the Hood, you'd be left dangling from a rope, held by my brethren while they decide your fate.
Airport security raised to stereotypes who are arrogant as they are clichéd.
My ninja blazed maneouvers will have your crib keylined.
Fuck the western suburnite cliché, Sid abused anyone around him, using his mental powers.

I've been so many places but I don't care for any abuse offered by you. Tamp. Rapist.
All terms that suddenly shudder your skin, the defined sin.
Fuck your business, my scripture is a witness to bury among the shards of the internet.
The score settled, Sid took another swig of Grapefruit juice.
My pay?
Satisfaction that my factions are the common enemy against your weak group of creeps.
Leave you so pulped you'd make really shit fiction, who'd bother writing about you anyway, you've had more than I'd care for.


Up with The Burning Phlag.
Gulag 33. Upside of The burning of priests. Siphoning fuel, giving classic delivery that took more than a butcher's at prisoners of the state. What's more sick is that believing all said will lead you to play yourself in a movie chump.
Catch that when you kids are my age said Sid.

This pod is filled with gold. I am reborn through the fact tonight somehow on my inebriated drunken bicycle tow, my iPod bleeds for me. Real heads are down.
Dark as ink, maybe you're Sicilian with a tan.

Or it could just be the 3 bewgs I pulled in a row. I am convinced.
But I could top it.
What about another suggestion?
Chefs cook, boys fight and girls play house.
Go home and stick your head in the oven while I laugh out loud. Fuck what is this song.
I haven't heard it in years.

I wear my scars like the rings of a pimp.
I'm controlling the Atmosphere up in here, as I drop a new word that makes your rhymes look like they been written by a chimp.
Stop think.
I steal more than the show, I ruin your collaborations and crews simply riding in a car with bruises. So put a plug where the utter terrors better pack berettas.
Songs I was raised on.

"Sid stood at the end of the pier. "Give up bitch, my pantyhosed face is just to smell your cunt Clarice, start running now or i'll be kidnapping your second niece. " Sid stopped to have a draw on his cigarette. "You've done more shit than me, sometimes, maybe? But consistently there is a change in your face when I damage how your reputation tastes."

Sid just showed Angus the Ugly side of The Bigger Picture.
And Angus loved it.

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