Untitled Song

I talk credit—either scores or a bar tab

wipe clean or swing blades through a hard slab

I been ill—whether viruses or ill will

Code written or soul missin when the steel spill

Popping at your top like a loose leaf groovy,

I'm da dealer and user, call it two piece doobie.

got the M16 doing motherfucking ballet,

Letting nice 16s sing like a rap souffle,

Put the pedal to the metal,

let the devil hold the kettle,

Catch a case off fabrication,

shatter nations with the missile,

Validation from the villains ain't equivalent to official,

Calculations in the basement,

sketch a statement with a chisel,

Detonation illustrations,

split the pavement down the middle.

you little fiddle motherfucker