Freestyle #1

Sit, i said sit bitch, you fucking twitch and I'll pore salt in each of the slits i slit,

now admit the feelings when they hit, don't be a pussy little wussy bitch,

hit it with a picket cricket wicket, make sure not to miss it, switch it up,

sick slick cut is not enough. Good impression is always a good decision,

carve the incision, your mission to deliver the package containing lithium.

Experimentation with inflation, float away in space and place a space station,

notation of a mathematical dilation. Push, provoke the big red round button

watch as nothing becomes a big round something, imagine a lot of loving,

orgy butt rubbing, it's not necessary... but it's something, my favorite button

to push for fun 'n' fucking. Start chucking buckets of KFC at the lucky cunts 'n'

start a ruckus, watch as these suckers eat cluckers, fight for boneless suppers.

"Huston we have a problem... it's not going to solve it's self, it's a big problem,

located in Dublin, many people are chucking stuff at Rock Hudson and have stopped loving"

I'm repeatedly pushing the button, but nope, nothing. Lets try another red button.

I think i busted it by pressing it a Trillion, 40 billion 26 million, 448 thousand and 266 times.

I think i just printed a million fine rhymes, when the fuck will i be acknowledged and get signed?

Grinding grain, it's all the same, there are days i feel I'm going insane,

repetitive competitive grain girding lanes, lined in arrays, lane to lane,

insane verses insane, never point the blame, you'll just drive the insane

to sethering, tethering your veins, that would be a shame, such a shame.

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

as they juggle knives for a deadly purpose, entertaining service, recursive

dispersive competition comes to surface, who can throw the furthest.

Churn the losers or permissive in the grinder, then throw them in the pacific,

specific to the geo where the current twisted, forever they drifted, never to be lifted,

or be found adrift, forever a myth, concealed with the pith. Orange rhymes

with dorhinge (door-hinge), which swings 'n' flings, correlating to the physics of wings,

the post man steps within and brings me my ordered chicken wings,

all the way from Beijing. I'll sing cause i feel like a king, crown on top,

dominating house from lot to lot, repeat the process but plot a crop.

growing glowing pot, tastes better sparked, served hot, cops know squat.