SYLLABLES

Yo.

Fuck it...

 

This shit runs through my pigment.

Lyrically I'm something different.

Maybe a mixture of.

Some Blake Griffin. Abe Lincoln.

Blade and Charles Dickens.

A Harvard musician.

Your starving tell me who isnt.

But the margin is in the equipment.

When I'm equipped with.

More infringements then a metre maid.

Handing tickets.

I stand on business.

Land a kick flip and I don't even skateboard.

I'll crane form. When carrying weight plates.

Like I've done a decade in Pelican bay.

Throwing until there's a pitching/pigeon change.

Then it's Toucans/two cans and I'm wasted away.

But I'm a vulture for this game.

I could have the Mona Lisa paint fade away.

Such a vulgar spitter aiming for your lane.

Told ya to quit praying for a car collision.

Have your face covered like Islamic women.

For fucking with Saddam on the lyrics.