| Yo when I pick-up a mic, I get shivers like winter nights
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| When I’m spittin right, grippin it tight, adrenaline spikes
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| Like a fight was incited in the cypher and I’m the type to ignite
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| The violence when my rivals in sight — I’m wilin
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| Inviting a writer to bite what I scribe with a pilot
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| I’m a bison in stride, strikin any guy who would try it
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| Brighter than lightning riding the skies, a titan
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| The size of giant and timeless, surviving any crisis arising
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| I rhyme inter-twining science with a fright-en-ning kind
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| Of maniacal bias inspired by crime and defiance
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| For societal pro-pri-ety -- try me-- I’m silently
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| Devising vials of viral diseases, so finally
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| These people I despise will consume lethal fumes
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| When me and my goons release plumes on the streets you use
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| From heated moving balloons, till you see on the news
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| You need leak proof suits and tubes to breathe through too
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| My music is a fusion of acoustical fuel and the brutal
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| Views of a nuisance who uses the tunes he produces
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| To get you to do shit and induce a movement of new and |
| Improved revolution within a few minutes of viewing it
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| I’m losing it daily, my crew’s been a scary influence on
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| Burymore choosing to carry more tools than repair-men and using em
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| On various stupid arrogant dudes daring to prove shit
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| I’m airing two clips and ain’t caring who’s hit
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| I’m sicker than livers after litres of liquor were in em
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| I breathe benzene steam→feed on litter and bleed venom
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| My track skills are so ill cuz I see with a green vision
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| Field, and I feel, people’s heat signatures keep switchin
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| I hone in to a foe’s position with primo precision
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| I see no reason to get emotional over leaving you twitchin
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| Broken and beaten, ya clothes soaked in hemoglobin and piss when
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| I open your throat with a choke, so viscious it rips in
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| To your skin and past tissue, to de-tatch your kisser
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| From your little bitch ass neck, when I grab and hit you
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| I’m faster than missiles, actually I’m faster than the signals
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| Transmitted to blast missiles, I catch bullets from pistols
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| I can be drunk, high, passed out or nappin, asleep |
| I’ll catch a ninja’s daggers with a clap, inches from stabbin me
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| If you added all the casualties, I’ve casually had in a week
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| You’d have to get NASA to do the math, I’m a savage beast |