Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Tracks I spit on.

Tech blows streets are running red,
For bread soldiers bleed, drunk nor weeded,
Heated by fakers, for God's sake,
I get down with kids, who make it,
Foes I break with slick convo,
The don with advanced plans to blow,
Man I slam like Shaq, tracks I spit on,
Roam the streets in a six,
My dome sky rocket like buildings in Manhattan,
The unique patterns, chicks dressed in satin,

The massive rapper never passive,
Come with styles as if my vocal is graphics,
the paragraphs and a status which is the badest,
my interest in a Benz and skins is immense,
intense with sentence set trends with the vocals,
rocking the globe, the rhymes soulful,
Cats clown, the dark skin kid drop for props.

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