This is a song about "Takeema"

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

As they juggle knives for a deadly purpose, entertaining service, recursive

I like alliterative verses, i like cussing and inovative curses

An obstacle ill hurdle it while i keep the purple lit

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,