With this silver bladed tongue
I am cutting through diamonds and tarnishing gold.
Watch my tongue unfold, I am spitting hollow tips.
With grip that pierces flesh and grabs onto your spirit.
I wont let go;
As long as I have hold of your soul, you’re going to hear it —
My voice that is.
Try to silence me and my eyes shoot beams like Cyclops
I can hear a feather drop,
When I’m not listening to my self breathe.
This dish is best served cold on a silver platter
Grab your silver spoon and eat this truth until your belly aches;
Your shitting the bricks that built your home
A great debater, but I am no competition for Washington.
I’m spending my training days writing not riding.
There’s no insured survival, but I’m not shy about taking risks.
Fist in the air pumping up the power and the volume.
The 808s break my heart and my eardrums too.
Smoke clouds fill the room.
This dramatic entrance has a certain aroma,
appearing before me I’m unsure if its the Virgin,
Or Jane playing tricks on me.
No no this Grimm
You fear death; on the other hand
I wrap the belt around my neck like a tie.
Contusions deep enough to leave my body paralyzed.
The only thing I fill, are the lines on the paper.
She got game tho, seemingly Jesus when the clock winds down.
I approach the mic with un-calming nervousness,
as if I am standing at the pulpit asking to be reborn again.
Sleeping like an infant by the hours,
I wake up.
There are ghetto birds outside my window.
I spit on the mirrors of narcissist, now they see a bit clearer.