3AM (Freestyle.)

3AM, just vibin', dunno where the fuck all the time went.

Constantly layin' quiet, with the thoughts on my mind.

before i know it, i'll be workin' 9 to 5, while i write the rhymes.

i have the times, where i go into a state of my black mind.

darkened, hard to find, like Clouds In The Dark, patches of where i write-

the lyrical crimes, that i like to call "murder with lines"

I turn up the vibes, to sit and find, the trips, i'm fine

to slit a guy, takes more than just depression and a wrist.

takes a lot to hold back, to resist, just for my right to be called a "lyricist" to be insisted.

i insist to be the sickest, with my pengame, the fittest, with mainstream, the biggest.

to be the best, is what i wish in, to recieve the form of this gift then-

gon' make me happy, take me back to trashin' these faggots, from the beginnin' of their rappin'

off of my fake shit, but just wanna pitch some hands in, backhandin' to body slam them.

Remember when i said "I spit RAW" i meant that in more than just a literal form, a lyrical form.

doesnt take much for a sentence to be born, pen ink in the pores, rising to the top like Stars in the North.