When I spit a fly sixteen, I just plain murk it
You wouldn’t shine on a 1 minute track, call it a short circuit
You should board a circus, always cracking jokes
But when it comes down to rap, you’re lacking flows
Always slacking, shows the bare truth like a streaker fest
I’m not God on a Sunday, but when I go easy I decide to give the weak a rest
‘cause I’m not on the streets with a vest
But if you’re dying to beef, I could make you meet the death
Cease the crap, I do it with ease, the rest
Is Scofield... trying to escape the bars they made
It’s just like a sunset, when I shine they fade
Some say blades are equivalent to my nouns and verbs
Javelins and daggers are now in terms with the sound and search
For the perfect combination when I flow with sensation
I feel small like I sense Asians but as soon as I flow like an interrogation
I just beat the truth out of these fakers stuck in rotion...