Fingerless Hand

Yo, being the best ain't 'bout pomp, ain't 'bout posture—

it’s the impact, the aftershock, adversaries lost in the roster.

You up next? Grab the pen, cock it proper,

spit forty-five in five like Doc’s clockwork chopper.

My coupe’s got curves, my verbs crack ciphers—

prophetic scriptures, Granddaddy's compass fractured in five wars.

Directionless since my ascension, blood on the ledger,

nosebleed chess moves, one kill—no sweat, I'm death’s executor.

Came off like Da Vinci with a vendetta,

7-Eleven was Eden till the pressure severed my tether.

Sip the nectar, make a wish—angel dust on your lips,

lamp glow, lead pipe tucked where the basement bricks sit.

Twin Glocks whisper psalms through the drywall,

every rhyme’s a landmine wrapped in holy verse protocol.

 

Yo, I'm cerebral venom, lethal in seconds—twelve to ten systems,

A crownless kingpin, squeezing lead on presidents' inscriptions,

Patriot? Liar. Uncle Sam's debts got me flexing scriptures,

Bloodlines severed clean—cold steel where kinship glistens.

Underbelly oligarch, Holocaust flows with civility disguises,

My fraudulence perfumed in gunpowder—silence the riotous,

No project baby, just eggshell hallways peeling like paranoia,

"Blessed"? My psyche autopsied that word mid-sermon—

Nausea’s my compass, the office splintered by juvenile fists,

Kids catch haymakers, ribcages crack like pistachio gifts,

The gin’s a thin veil—watch the monster sip through the abyss.

 

Yeah, they dub me Shogun—silver tongues turn to chrome,

Money moves serpentine, stackin’ sins where the sirens roam.

Fingerless grips clutch steel like Edo thieves in the mist,

Kickin’ vans into cliffs, cash avalanches get split.

Dam breach rhetoric, sandman logic with narcotic ticks,

Van Damme high-kick ya franchise into crooked bricks.

Clash with brass knuckles, fan of the flask—Samurai drunkard,

This land’s a coliseum, grandstand built from blood and bunker.

Who knew the ciphers kill? Full clips but the meters chill,

Loose lips sink ships—Lu Bu with a sniper’s skill.

New moon’s a pupil dilated, shrooms dilate the hatred,

Too true with the scalpel—crews get autopsied, sedated.

Cool as Arctic warfare, tune sharp as a kris dagger,

Still, the fools lose layers—peeled like lacquer for the swagger.

I’m the ghost in the shell game, both shell and the clam,

Yakuza palms under Noh masks—still, the cash grand slam.

Built like Pagoda tiers—bills disappear in the fog,

Full clips, loose screws—still thread the needle like a cog.

Real recognize real when the moon’s a neon sign,

And every syllable’s a bullet casing—designed to shine.