Untitled Song

I wrote this one in B.C. D.C. O-section

If you don't believe me, go get bagged and check then

Cell number seventeen, up under the top bunk

I say this not to be mean, wish bad luck or pop junk

Pop the trunk on Cee Cipher Punk, leave him left scraped

God forbid, if there ain't no escape, blame MF tape

Definition "super-villain": a killer who love children

One who is well-skilled in destruction, as well as building

While Sidney Sheldon teaches the trife to be trifer

I'm trading science fiction with my man the live lifer

A pied piper holler a rhyme, a dollar and a dime

Do his thing, ring around the white collar crime

Get out my face, askin' 'bout my case, need toothpaste

Fresher mint, monkey-style nigga get Mentadent

And dope fiends still in they teens, shook niggas turn witness

Real mens mind their own business

That's the difference between sissy-pissy rappers that's double-dutch

How come I hold the microphone double-clutch?

C.O.'s make rounds, never have ‘ox found

On shakedown, lock-down, wet dreams of Fox' Brown