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mc's cannot be created or destroyed, mad verbs deployed a void of greater-thans: four letter stanzas, rhymin' with your hands again shadow figures, let my choice of weapons linger i lost my middle finger but you can do what you like with your, "shit, bitch, fuck, dyke" - get your gold teeth off the mic beneath the plate with two strikes id change with my fame, make all my verse tame just dont put a 'k' on the end of my name ignite the fuse as i abuse, continue to confuse cus your flows are recycled, and reused, which side of the spectrum do you choose? too many mc's have simply paid their dues but ive died and come back with a new pair of shoes to out run, and out last, into the future from the past, to chastise your pride fast eyes are on my side, i return like the tide to sweep away the last remnants of your dignity when i grab the mic, mc's never run, rather gather son and check my sermon of deliverance from the new style ya lyrical pedophiles, rappin orators of their verse put a curse on the scene and i see truer rappers sportin jean jackets tennis rackets be the weapon of their choice and when they bring it to ya boys i watch their little knees shake as the suckas break your confidence and take the few cents that you got left, to catch the bus ride home wherever they may roam keep it out my domain and at this time, i'll conclude to explain my thoughts, theories, and reflections on the following, check it: fame, martyrdom, time, space, rhyme, reason, seasons, iced tea, friends, the end lovers, brothers, mothers, love, peace, rock, trials and tribulations, red heads, and long legs. . . and im out. Aus Songtexte Mania