100 Syllable Round

Bitch please, why be difficult now?

You've already been pinned to the ground, and filled with hundred syllable rounds

We still getting it down, influence getting around

Find my enemy's house, burn that bitch to the ground

My purpose is to be found, not yet discovered

Do I wanna be a drug-addict like my mother?

Or do it like my dad and be a grandma mugger?

Dark forces all around me, mingling with eachother

Lyrical picture-boy, I turn pens and pencils to gunners

So intimidating, turned established men into runners

The establishments hide for cover, they hate to see us as equals

Making lies and defamating, pictures painted see us as evil

See us eat you alive and use your skin as a tissue,

Then jab I microphone through your jaw so I can diss you

Even my mom dissed you, she said something about you being a blonde bitch too!

Bitch you're a non-issue, why don't you re-enact Stan and jump off of a bridge too?

I miss you, I'm writing daily, but you don't answer

It seems to be there seems to be ghosts in your manor

On account of skeletons in your closet you jam in

Just admit it, let the truth speak

You couldn't make a verse in 14 days, you're too weak