ha.

sick is sick tho:


>Until the boss get crossed by false denominations
>get tossed across halls following exonerations
>Understand that we kinetic you feel me when you get it
>get them handicaps spaces cause ya flow is prosthetic
>fake like plastic fruits or velvet versace suits
>strong dollars, staying power, or laser print loot.
>can't dispute I chipped ya rep like my right front tooth
>Couldn't be more down if I was Triple Fat Goose
>A plethora of threateners and overhyped competitors
>music video editors, examine as I test ya
>Ugly like Aunt Esther or stripes and checkers
>Was told "it's medical" so I sedated the hecklers
>tested but never challenged I'm engrossed with my talents
>Observe your life in scale as it hangs in the balance
>a prophet once shared nigga practice the art of silence

3rd person.

they hate him in a game he aint playin, foulin'eem, sayin his ego is jumbo
he never skated wit'cha dame, still she sayin: "in actuality, that negro is humble"
"maybe a beat(bit) of a bunghole, but as a G that's hung low
he keeps both heads free, watchin his feet for the stumble"
and the snakes in the grass, who wait for his pass, try'n to take what he grasps
like if he gets a little bit inter-Ested in gettin wet wit a sis,
some schitz will come and take a jump in the lake wit a splash
He'll laugh.
say it's 'late'
then he'll 'Pass'
She'll crash
say 'what about fate?'
He'll laugh
and say "Ay..
have a good day
and fate, my ass."