Sick

reality check by: binary star

check it.



Get a grip on yourself cuz you ain't grippin mines

Life and times,
 
outta lies
 
rap guys
 
outta line careers I finalize

collide with this seranade cyanide

you apply for Silla's high

The thing that makes killa's high

Hang 'em high

by the gold link necktie

And drain 'em dry

into tempest eye

now you ain't God so you ain't that high

wanna be aeronautic And get swatted for actin' fly

Masterminds

crafty rhymes,

I'll rip from drafty lines

that chill spines

like the Alpines,

runnin up on some natural binds

A close encounter of the worst kind

Go ask the cats that heard I'm

 lyrical turpentine

Who wanna taste mine

I gotta carry hill on the wasteline


God give the bassline

so let the phlegm fly

I survive seven-five

through the M-ine,

when I

forcefully Jedi

On the wooze I red-eye,

heads fly bet I,

sharpshoot dead-eye

Snooze crews bed bye,

Mary lou flippin' I

pistol pump grippin I

stompin, I

semper-fi

represent, temper high,

signify

Walkin round ain't nothin similar Like a Gemini,

in this perimeter sublimin-ie

Cats be cut dry

Im a wild wet guy

I be rainin precipitation 'til it's one inch your neck high

Less fly

kids misguide,

without an alibi


Who said you rap tight? You come unraveled by

Slice of this rap scalpel, guys

quick as apple pie

I'm learned in old schools of thought and shit you baffled by

Conceptual intellectual fireslide

Silla oxide

rhymes flow like a rockslide

you musta forgot I,

have your ass knockneed and cockeyed

Bruised, battered, broken up, walkin, cut dipped in peroxide

Death to the Pop Fly