DEFENDER'S RAP

• I'm yes, sick through the bars, Splitting em upwards, leaving testicular scars. Really put them through the test, if you par, with the pain in death, seeing bleeding disconnections where veins connect, cutting at your heart whilst screaming the words "Satan's next". Take your brainless bludgeoned skull straight to my place to have your face fucked in dull, as I hit you for me imagining you said my race is blessed. Lines press, as I edge the question: like my bars you stole, have I with the details sketched too hard?, you're a curbed space cadet. Not a rapper that can get through his first verse, without having sprayed his sweat, in time to have said his new part.
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• I don't need a set to use this, fist, to wreck Anubis, with let a lone fetch a stone to get abusive, bitch, 'll pet the doofus kids, influence them to attack you just to teach you to listen to better music skits, as your wife: comes back in failure, I'll nail her to the fucking Baylor, then mail for a one way trip to Australia after having fed her two dicks quick, yes, I'm the rudest, leaving her the loosest slits, through having to use the tip just to bruise her ribs with Andre's private parts that are for your ex: exclusiveness: made that hoe bend that back row in exuberance, call me: "sir that gets head from Hillary" quick to be silly with artillery in a state of ebullience.