BUILDING BLUEPRINT

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VICTIM

thrashin' down dark city streets,
lookin' for some meat to cleave,
a quick jump and then we leave, two of us, hoodies,
and you bet that red ain't ink,
mind racin' from the sess, to describe nascar fit it best,
not one talked shit and not get turned to a mess,
number of rumbles lost even less,
it's who? take a guess, the one to fuck you up with no regrets,
ice cold, no feelings that's why the winter fit him best,
leave you more than just a little bit depressed,
more than 1908, i'll give you somethin' for your ass to hate,
when asked for rates, given at least 8, for shit written so great,
so grate, be careful when you steppin' on em',
to attempt a step over me is like startin' another Vietnam,
uhm, sportin' black hoodies and matchin' toboggan,
start a fight, you've already lost and ended up in a coffin,
flow slicker than the bottom of bowling kicks when you spittin' on em,
so crazed that by seven a.m. poppin' prescription oxy's,
more hungry for a fight than kids on Ritalin when you take em' off it,
file an amber alert my fuckin' mind i lost it,
i prolly make you nauseous, so i would say, take caution,
test me with that fuckin' mouth i'll prolly run my fuckin' fist across it,
so be advised don't fuckin' cross me,
or get crossed with a hit heavier than Rick Ross and,
get your chin knocked higher than me if i sniffed exhaust fumes,
so slip off me, like you was runnin' on a floor with spilled coffee in ripped socks,
cause i'm not bluffing.
fucker.

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