Wednesday, February 27, 2008

I got to drop this rhymes, and get my shine on,
my poems are flowing in form of line,
and I grind like I supposed to, brag and boast,
and ghost weak artists, they can not compete,
with a kid who got mad soul, I got goals to achieve,
talks is just the way I walk , no joke,
stimulate your lobe with a pure rhyme,
the real hip hop stuff, I drop kid...!!!,

Nobody can mess with a kid who got enough raps to pitch,
They rather see me gone, I'd rather perform and hold my own,
I gotta flow like a space shuttle, The raw line spitter,
I do my thing while the plates rotate, I am out to get
whole cake and nothing less, I bless the mic with bomb,
techniques, my rap sheets is focused on delivering flavour,
out to live major, my thoughts I am putting it down,

I got to go on, It never can be the same song,
I remain calm and spit rhymes off the dome,
From daylight to the early morning,
I get busy, just keep reading on, I end them clones,
and I strike with hype type of hits,
Out to get that cake, while the beat breaks I will rake up,
the paper,


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