SPIT HOT FIRE

I got some skill but ill will it warrants. This mini renaissance haunts the ghosts of Florence. Plastic dismembers the real feel of steel, chronic calm my cranium into an even keel. Shake as you may, I'll be the mainstay, rattling away 'til I fray you with my gray. matter maybe splatter shatter limbs into void, dog I aint even mad yet just slightly annoyed. Never static is the attic dwelling in my skull, constant motion this devotion to alleviate the lull. not a killer never filler often times a bottle spiller, summabitch just hand my ass another mothafuckn miller. Whisky got me feelin risky bout these shady dealins, try to force this shit on me and your grill they'll be peelin. Off the sidewalk your ryhmes lined in chalk, diligent I stalk, whack mc's cut off at knees for not passin the rock. Every time I face ya I marinate and baste ya, caked in spice a wasted life, those cannibals can taste ya.



Time for facing facts boy, you aint reachin the top. It's just beyond your grasp, saved for the creamy crop./Time for facing facts, you've got everything to fear. No way you can relax son, the lyricist is here.