Got a joint with ten songs and it's all Kim Jong Il/ill, I've seen down stems of bongs that aren't as dope as I feel,
the rap game did me wrong so it's something I had to kill, now, I'm on death row, eating emcess for my last meal,
I'm gassed for real, I'll pass the mic when the senate passes a bill that doesn't benefit jackals and backers on capital hill,
tackle each verse like a raptor with a Pterodactyl to capture, get tactile response from the rafters as I chase after it,
use impractical fonts for the words I place haphazardly in a stew with herbs de provence like a synesthetic masterpiece,
laughter ceases after beats are shredded, causing casualties, you're indebted to my legacy like Mott's to Johnny Appleseed,
fetted foes with diuretic flows, my kinetic presence never slows, in essence acquiescin' bits of sentences and flexin' prose,
stretchin' 'till the catch their toes, lines bow and form parabolas,
stone tablets full of babble rousing rabble off of half a buzz, like...

I don't know what's real no more, verses the artificial, I'm hard as nickel when I carve a throat with my sickle. the grim reaper of rap, deeper in blood and gristle, I'll turn a river of life into a muddy trickle

I'm a man-child with a wild style, my ways are Will Ferrell/feral,
spend days in womens' apparel, spittin' pagan Christmas carols,
I'm an isthmus betwixt two disparate land masses,
in a sea of doubt, I stand on sand as your ship passes,
grand monolith, my lips are chapped from salt showers,
stone tower spits raps at all hours,
with the sour taste of power on my tongue, it's a tough meal to stomach, but I've been lame for too long to run from it,
bring callous to pumice, I etch my name angrily on the summit, Alice of Wonderland served rum with their crumpets,
switch trumpets for trombones, the lonely-heart king of the half-tones, bring a knife to a gunfight at Zap Zone,
my life's unhinged, but I still contend like a Dennis Rodman stat line, prime Tiger Woods on the back nine,
what's cilantro with lime? Savant flows, winds chime when I rhyme, break down thoughts in my mind with enzymes

I don't know what's real no more, verses the artificial, I'm hard as nickel when I carve a throat with my sickle.
the grim reaper of rap, deeper in blood and gristle, I'll turn a river of life into a muddy trickle