yo this isn't a song or a poetry kinda thing this is just a freestyle ok

yo, rhymin too quick/ on this fresetyle shit/ wit idealic lyrics that make you feel this/ for real this is just a rhyme that is comin straight from the brain/ thinkin about, thought about it and this rhyme deserves to be in this thang. the streets look for the who what where why and how/ they want the info right here, right now/ understandable lyrics wit a whicked sound/
come on now this is where i break it down/ insane or whicked no sleep for the evil no time for the suffering, no rest for the whicked/ and the rest are just bitches/ where the bitch ass emcees/ thinkin they can mess with emcsizzie/ bitch please i git down/ bout ta chow down/ this boy betta bow down/ for i go indian on him and pull a pow wow. git up spit up rip up/ huh what the fuck wha-what?/ this must be on the stage where live band plays in the club/ but i ain't doin a song i am just spittin some lyrics not givin a fuck/ this boy mightaswell just give up/ cuz, he can't measure to the hight of skill/ wit my rhymes that eva so ill/ so whateva just lyrically kill/ him fa real