Ballistic linguistic yeah I spit it…. Noncentz …
my lyrics are the combination of astrophysics/
With word combos that that test the calculated numeric codes limits
Found on cellular digits…. My molecular structure inhibits…
Every stable element on the periodic table/
So basically it’s a fable if another says he can rock better if he’s not able/
To comprehend im the shit period regardless punctuation…
Understand my word pronunciation and annunciation plus my infatuation with
Complex inscriptions decoded on microphone… text single lineded/
Then you’re the product unisex chromosomes/
Or should I say the man turn bitch for the laymen’s minded.
Any skills you possess would take contracted escabation team to find it.
I know these rappers fashions it as if I designed it.
Just a bunch of fagot as pussies in coofies that try to pattern
themselves To me like I was endorsed by Gucci.
My combination of h2o and o2 creates/
hurricanes when my breath mixes with The saliva that condensates.
My mouths 98 Fahrenheit changes to 98 below Celsius/
I bet you aint expecting this
I spit the hottest shit with the coldest rhymes pluralized designed in a singular diss.
All I do is narrate/ the type of brainstorms/
that require a Doppler radar and atlas
To navigate/ through you been warned. …I’ll leave your fans missing
like Atlantis.
Deadly off the head like a female mantis/after the males sexual advances/
This rap game is full of more bitches then a Kansas college campus.
You chances are compressed your ratio is broken sim~pli~stic/
Cause like rehabbed drug pushers I aint dealing with it.
I’m one of the most gifted/ like spoiled brats birthday/
my word display/and raps Could have you twice as amp
as using caffeine to wash down ephedrine caps.
The human atrocity/that own your ass like my name
was fallowed by an apostrophizes.
A disease that cause immune defiensiancy /
the only emcee that can prove the philosophy
Hypothesis of saucretes with separation of soul and body by composting/
The illest shit then depositing it in the form of the nastiest writs.
90 percent phat and deep like the cleavage from pam lees’ tits.
Its more then a battling trip/its metaphors on the fighting tip/
When fists replace scripts and your personalities be left split.
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