I'd say rate this, but you probably tell me it sux... rate it!

twistedlyricist · 08-30-2003, 07:47 AM

It's almost six in the mornin', I'm spittin' with out warnin'.
Head is lead it's just that damn dead,
hasn't bin fed, put to bed, sped up or slowed down,
no frown, just a lyricist clown,
funny, mentally challenged, has not yet avenged the onslaught of his mind, blind with stupidity, humidity of the kind.
Blinded by hate, anger and greed,
with one simple plan, to plant fields of weed.
To get high as a kite, n' toke all night, with unclear sight,
a clouded vision, with envisioned dreams,
streams of thoughts,
a metamorphisis of the mind, a revelation of the human kind.
A blazing silver streak, an untamed freak,
I toke, I try n' provoke more toke of the smoke.
This is my rhyme, if I play a little with the time.
A kinda grime that sticks to ya, ya can't be a prick, I'll prick ya back,
I'll poke ya with a stick, till blood spirts, runs down a wall,
a flowing water fall, running through a mall.
I can't stall, pause for a moment,
I must be a rabbit, keep up with this pacin' habbit,
a cheetah of sorts, like my buddy with the speed that he snorts,
A snortin bull ready ta blow, me being a buffalo I once interupted his flow,
smashed his head of a roof, he wanted ta give me a hoof,
but it don't really matter,
still I don't scatter, I don't tatter or tear,
I'm a comit blastin' my way outta hear, not one single fear, a pain that could sear,
hot as the sun, I sit here deliverin' a pun,
this shit's not done I'm aimin' stun, to shock and amaze and blast people into the canibus haze!
The best damn dayz their is!
For shizzle my nizzle!

Peace!