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• Written by TheRealNMC
// Hook
Land of the free, home of the brave
My own little fee, to stop up the fame
Would you agree, to stay in the game
To jack up acclaim, to spread out your name
// Verse 1
I've claimed every thread
my pen, frames what is said
It inflames what is dead
That's the thoughts that were bred
You see words, they're my friends
When I can recommend
And extend a new end
I'm upset to pretend
That no dead working men
Were sent to my sentence
Cause then they'd repent: yes,
Get shipped to the entrance
// Verse 2
Now I'm rolling on the fourth dimension
Sitting courtside, adjacent to tension
I'm no patient with some basic pension
I'm a secrete agent of attention
when I rhyme the sheet has sole discretion
Though it often cheats; it checks the question
That's before the meekly given lesson
//Verse 3
My bars are far from Thought's: that's him, Tariq
Master of the perfect square technique
He sees that all the dots are knotted neat
No word is lost, and off in constant speech
See, I'm often boss of consonants; each
is off in their own thoughtless sea of knots
I opt to closely watch and lead
//Verse 4
Now I'm off, my thought on fith gear
Here's the final of this tear
It ought to opt to offer cheer
And not just nod to profer fear
// Hook
Land of the free, home of the brave
My own little fee, to stop up the fame
Would you agree, to stay in the game
To jack up acclaim, to spread out your name
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About the Artist
TheRealNMC
Member since October 8 2017