Thursday, July 8, 2010

The surviving text is jibberish.

Blood sucking vampire needle carrying night crawlers,
Sprawled on city streets drinking longies zombie speaking fight talkers. Rats, learn. You ain't on my level, escalate while you regulate, I machine and devestate while you make statements, your gen are snitches, your whole crew front but deep down bitches, you make me nauseous and your cell mate pitches,
I'm digging dirt while your pissing Gatorade, I made no time for your lines cos people get sick of your old times.
You scene hoppers, go shopping get yourself a gun,
Cos rap in the trap, cunt, it's back to 1991.

Spin wheels and photocopy my style, shit be obvious,
And all I do is hit keys when I'm high as helicopters,
A gift east you see, the evolutionary key,
But if you keep fucking with me, I got you penned as incorrect, mentally.

By the way, it's a present for a friend of mine,
More boat people, more police funerals.

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