My phrontistery is a mystery, leaving clues in my history, partaking in notaphily, but the public eye is a risk to me, avoiding every dipsomaniac so they won’t, take me back to when i was a kleptomaniac. Not afraid of any corner, changing every border, so stressed but not armigerous, the world’s become so rigorous, i’m frozen cryogenically so enemies can’t get to me, a basic remedy with complex chemistry. Bitches pester me because i flow like electricity, immortality, using words for weaponry, smashing on methamphetamines, whole life ahead of me, but i’ve got these suicidal tendencies. i’m not like the other rappers, they’re all illiterate. they’re all inarticulate. tricky like a spider’s web, won’t get high instead, head down until the fire spreads.
Hands up, if you’ve run outta luck
If you come against me, then you’ve run outta luck
A tenacious grip on emptiness, ostentatious shit, notice this. I’m sick of being a victim at the hands of this system, kill everybody, see does anybody miss them, flawless logic, capture a hostage, gun to the temple, ripple breaking your dentals, i’m a vicious coward with my lyrics as power, shooting off my mouth man, call it spit shower, i confuse astrophysicists because my hieroglyphic is, a horned beast, scorned from the east, taking refuge in hell’s fire, ash in my lungs, lucifer felt tired, so i’m taking over the sun, now i’m feeling number one and i’ve only just begun, but this beat weighs a tonne, hits harder than a handgun, so when i start to shoot, you better run, run, ‘cause this a run you’ll never outrun.
Hands up, if you really don’t give a fuck
if you listen to these tracks, i don’t give a fuck
I’m the mad hatter, mumbling some sad chatter, destined to be a cat catcher, smashing your skull with a flat hammer, i’m rap’s actor, attack conquer, last longer, than fat monsters, but a tad stronger, i saunter through cities with silly knives to slaughter, more disastrous than a meeting between palestine and israel, but my thoughts up for sale and wait, no sale, waging my own jihad, but be glad, i don’t mean that, i speak fast, i don’t need grass, and heard your ma’s got a sweet ass. banging out an EP, because i’m bored as fuck, watching jerry springer because, maury sucks, a good kid, but a screw up, call me jessie pinkman, when i said i’d be a rapper, what the fuck was i thinking?
all rights reserved