FIEND FOR THE GREEN

I slam with grammar, refuse to sqeeze hammers in rap,
amuse the peeps by the pack or a bunch, I have more styles,
than Shaolin monks, son. Who I am the son of a Gun,
who hates violence, kept my self in silence,
now I broke it, I drop dope hits, bless the mic
like the pope kid, the loads of inspiration,
I get from staring at the starts,
I came from far, I aim for the target,
spark the segments of the market,
while others are selling out, I dwell
in my thoughts, poetry patterns
I brought is smoking, I am not joking,

Chicks say I am mean, I fiend for the green,
like a rastafarian, But I do not smoke,
I set the scene, I step in my boots,
through any town, hold it down,
freestyles are flowing, I feel the mic glowing,
I step on stage, break out the cage like a lion,
It will take a lot of heat to melt the iron,
I chill for real and build further on,
the foundation, the amazing spiece from the
endangerd island, remain the golden soul,
to inspire young and old,