WhO KnowS

Yo

 

 

hit so hard break in a drum,

i beat the bass to shit like a shotgun or a shot from,

a casual listener, big dreams, haughty pictures,

wheres the 40-pitchers,

life has me on a wild goose chase,

my style extrudes taste,

your lyrical flow extrudes waste,

turn you loose, youll bruise, and turn in too, food passste,

oh from rythm to rhyme i kill, every time,

a socialist, who owns every fuckin line,

on this harder shit, on platforms, i will climb,

Tryna look past the gold, tryna hit the ceilings, not only for the signs,

fuck the worlds dealings,

i know when you walk, talk, flock to confide,

i know when you block that line, your really in shock, its barely crime,

fuck your thoughts,

il barely rhyme,

keep it simple,

on my rhythm the key will jingle, life is a fiend tho,

i dont know why i haven't pressed power on the console,

im tired of my mom tellin me i need a doctors fuckin con-sult