Yeah yo, peep this
I'll fold you until you need an ortherpidic,
Leave you a vegetablized,
A sociel reject,
You can't see my statigics,
While you hooked on phonics,
I'm moving weight in phoenix,
It is needless to say,
We keepers of the dead,
Invadin' your homestead,
Nuff said with,
Brains spead on concrete,
Keep it descrete,
Army fatigues so nobody saw me.
Word life, an' word to the dead,
I'll leave your frame red,
Like chicken pox
I'll made you doubt your orthadox,
I hit like trucks,
And hold more heat,
Then the gaurds at Fort Nox,
I'm the type,
To make you keep your doors locked,
Duck when the 44 sparks,
Make you rethink your forethoughts,
Know your role,
An' play your part,
© Copyright 2016 Tyrone Slade. All rights reserved.
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