FreEstYleZ 2 CLeAr A MiND Pt. 1

Headshot, facin’ death, nightmares givin’ bated breath,

with great respect, how you sayin’ you wit’ godlikeness?

I don’t think so, that’s covered by stage effects,

and characterized by shapelessness, I’m breaking strength,

like I crack cement, jus’ playin’, wit’ my pen,

just makin’ out on the bed, we jus’ friends, though.

I was packin’ the house wit’ espresso, and I was handed down by these fellows,

‘ere I’m castin’ down to rebel, yo, I’m backin’ out, yo,

What ya’ blackin’ out on the records fo’? I know you ain’t from ‘ere, so is this jus’ what headphone echoes wrote?

I know you ain’t really there, so what the records fo’? I know you ain’t around ‘ere, so what the records fo’?

I know you don’t fuck wit’ real shit, so what the records fo’?

 

 

Wicked pistol whip injustices wit’ it, I don’t give a shit,

“It’s Christmas!” I jus’ ain’t convinced, I smack a bitch.

She disappears, “you hypocrite!” I’m wonderin’, is that what Santa did wit’ the chimney in?

It’s winter, I’m shiverin’, I ain't wit’ her, I’m witherin’.

I’m askin’, ‘is this how we celebratin’ Nicholas or Jesus?’ shit,

that’s triggerin’, who’s Santa to the trinity? A bumblin’ synonym of idiot.

 

 

He’s from Philly, I’m from the city, the name in thee air to take up wit’ alone.

The shiniest diamonds, fine bitches home, I approach ‘er, she runnin’, ‘should I not propose?’

I’ve got king DNA, bitch to me the same, a plug in and go, a sticky mess to behold.

It’s relief well but then cold, it’s beardsleyesque, it’s white, it’s black, she mixed so it’s both.

I grab the mic’, jacked it up to max, and,

give into me, but leave me alone, love never felt so good but this might have to be postponed, yo.