Saturday, July 17, 2010


You might think you floss, that you paid a cost to be the boss,
But all your mouth play ain't meaning shit,
When every word you spray is bit.

I roll up on you, no plates, masked face,
Outsmarted on the street, bwap BWAP, no amount of faith,
Cos the only thing you run is the human race,
Into the ground, to the scene, YOU DISGRACE.

Your wack throwback shit died for a reason, look,
Get a handstyle, not a graffiti colouring in book.
Botched up Botox bitches hang on my every word,
Like my dictation of the dictionary became a dirty deity and the bi-dykey dimes keep on chasing me.

An accident is hate, and hate is divided evil,
Thus emotions are a minus,
Plus, you will never be considered equal.

Hold your breathe for the sequel.

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