I've always known the microphone, was a crucial appliance/ I keep my flow and poems honed, in this acoustical science/ sonic sorcery, spitting spells forcibly/ this is art of war to me, and you are just a forgery/ more importantly, is the fact, you lack massive appeal/ panache and skill, not considered actually ill/ every rap; every track, we action pack for the thrill/ your live-fire exercise is our practicing drill/ where I learned I have a talent to strike with the mic/ i'm high flying like a shrike, impaling rappers on a spike/ i'm a challenge in a fight, i'm the worst-case scenario/ my bible page page flow, conjures plagues through the stereo/ famine and locust swarms, families mourn, their first-born/ and welcome death with open arms, rather then provoking 'Phorm/ be warned, I'm elite, I've never met defeat/ the one- you can't even beat, in your deep REM-sleep/

I'm underground like the morlocks, scheming a war plot/ goin hard wit a crowbar, knocking the locks off the poor box/ I'm trying to score pot, and a whore that adores cock/ to leave her with a look on her face- that's pure shock/ call it a sure shot, cuz I aim for the stars/ and I'm drinking white lightning outta large mason jars/ your feeble team- could never keep pace with ours/ best case scenario, your face get traced with scars/ (fuck your basic bars), nothing about me is rudimentary/ my path can't be tracked with GPS or telemetry/ mention me?, better use reverence with any reference/ my presence can either means you get blessings, or bloodied with weapons/ in the streets or in the sessions, watch how- you approach me/ I'm prone to bring terror, like bela lugosi/ the new hot stepper, like Ini Kamoze/ known for severing a head, just to use as a trophy/

I love it when the drums start chattering, man, like battering rams/ if you trying to not nod your head, they shatter your plans/ salivary glands, engage- when I stand on a stage/ cuz I been eating emcees like a cannibal plague/ my animal rage, ain't caged, I behave depraved/ I made you my slave, wit mixtapes and radio waves/ in days when my clan invades, you can expect slaughter/ and every carcass, turned into fodder for insect larva/ you can chin-checked or martyred, man the choice is yours/ here slurs and hurtful words get served like hors d'oeuvres/