I spit fire
I get higher than the night flyer
Set off like a trip wire
I'll go ballistic like Mike Meyers
No quagmires can stop me
You fag-liars been sloppy
You'd be better off to retire then copy
Your peers, none of you kweers can top me
I'll drop bombs on ya like you were Gaddafi, awfully quick instinctually
Every fourth of July you will think of me
Pen and pad, there's never enough ink for me
Even when I'm mad, you're not in the same league as me
Can't you little leaguers see that I'm the Crimson King in Mid-world proper?
My mouth is a gun, I pull it and spit bullets at you like a block chopper
My whole life is like a mothafukin' rock opera
I'm a hip hopper, I rip sh1t talkers to shreds, so fuk what you've said you cok knocker