It's the Moment of Truth
Soldiers in the line of fire,
we're mic for hire,
we're for the cash or die
so all kneel to the poetic sire,
It's the black king from the goddess
plantin' cash seeds in the garden of loot,
It's the moment of truth,
My voice is like a volcanic box of chatter,
Poetry tracks will stab ya' like daggers,
My words scatter like when blood splatters,
As I unveil my wisdom & remedies,
My human acts & energies tend to be,
The formulas for your life & deaths proximity,
I'm mic for hire,
Spectators kneel & scream sire,
Trumpets get blown
As I spread my message like a town crier,
It's the arrival of the buffalo soldier,
You seized up in the RHYME PEDDLA'Z culture,
Fumes from my vocal box will choke ya',
As i drop poetic rain throughout your village,
And spillage from my mind damn creates a pillage,
For cash flow,
To the non-believers I slash throats and bag foes,
I'm equivalent to spontaneous combustion
When I splash quotes,
In verbal warfare, I'm psycotic and I don't frolic,
With my melodic manuscripts to leave your brain spotted,
With my symbol,
My mind runs fugitive like Richard Kimball,
360 degrees from my left temple back to my left temple,
I spit cerebral typhoons,
Spoken words and hype tunes,
Will penetrate your system
Leaving deep traces of mic wounds,
Which will reconstruct your eardrums,
I fears none but GOD the almighty big one,
A shot of cognac be my serum I need a swig son,
While i'm deep inside the trenches, relentless,
Trying to keep my adversaries hintless,
Many die quick, hard & centless,
Tryin' to phathom,
The magnectic lyrical orgasms,
From the dark skin grizzly adams
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