Drunken Master

drunken masters, kung fu style with the heat,

we don't know the beat but my feet are cold as the reach

of the Artic, see me in some cleats, flee seas, their vast as

my scene, in the streets,

my creed is the peace,

but the beef is vast as the catastrophes.

man I'm toxic, grabbing tonic and ranting nonsense

then plan philosophies, in a can full of crayons and

flossing, man I lost it, had a rock and bashed the officer,

in the Xan department, cracked the toxin, then rapped

back to Stockton, in a box of forgotten possessions,

I am in a grand psychotic, John Wick with the pen is sharpened,

Wu-Tang's got me hypnotic, my thoughts are cryptic,

flipping through the lexicon, my intellect's a mystic.