Level Beats

i'm gonna clang like a back beat tom track

and drop stories like a back street tom-cat

you on the fenceline, like a wide-eyed wombat

I change clips quickly in this clear-mind combat

 

you wish you russian on this bordline crushing

something from nothing the storyline touching

heartstrings by the chordload, over sparse percussion

you're shit spinning clockwise, silver handle flushing

 

frontings for the bankers, you need a tie on throat

you're crayon on a napkin, i'm a city-wide KryLon coat

cracking jokes on the folks who find hope in votes

tossing gas in the dumpster, calling out to stoke a revolt

 

you're domestic as a butter-dish, magnet -attached grocery note

think you're pope in a coat you ain't soap on a rope, total nope

you're about as dope as oregano twisted in a zag, no lift all choke

no hope to waste breath on this beast it's in the bag, antelope

 

your lines more jackalope, stitched and mostly fiction

blissed on a similie, like its a new invention, just a new kid in the kitchen

your sickness is called mic swallowing: a serious affliction

for the imitative rich kids whose problems are mostly

relative levels of attention, thats a problem for their counselors

imma level beats and inspire dissention, till you fall off

this war is called off, til you come equipped an adequate weapon