Some say you only see what your soul reflects
Some say you only seek what your soul neglects
So you sought me, and I’m hardly amused by your candor
‘cause your artistry, is most laudably pure propaganda
your green wit’ it, I’m John Henry with hammers
I’m mean witted, armed with envy and grammar
I preach to the masses of individual asses
Spiritless assassins set on changing flesh to ashes
You built your nest on magic, and I, on the backs of those who had it
If you’re shits fire, then I’m the atom that gave you static