aight young dunn, what ya got a gun? ya comin back from
under suns, bean baked by the drum, ya puffin son? maybe,
cause ya mind is back on rewind, looking for time in hind,
perspective, looking back, its placid, calm and wasted.
okay, show me what will power, ya got, and shower, the
devour of the heart, ya know, light the storm when ya come
apart, i wanna see that arch, spittin fire, below the dark
up to the march, of marches, in the parts, of parted seas,
and mark these, words, we headed....switch'em automatic
cleanin attics for old antics by silver bandits, hero sand
pitch, to desert mix, wit water, ya got mud, now, ya dirty
righ? been playin in the system tryin to figure out the
blisters? okay. what ya got, i wanna see those fists kid.

I fight for hiphop cause its fallen off, knowledge lost,
gotten soft in fact its cotton soft, plotting thoughts and
mind patterns trying to find ways, to abolish the fake and
swallow the hate, in 5 ways, or less I try to bring hiphop
back to the way it was, favor me savor me hiphop makes the
path safe for me, nowadays cats speaking blasphemy actually
I spit it passionly, bring my battle tactics cats hating on
my antics, cause Im spitting the exclusive new shit but
keeping the old school in me, simply cats is acting shifty
out to get me but none yall can rip me, my blood pumps
excessive amounts of adrenaline, hiphop rushes through me,
it consumes me and keeps my heart peddling, settling in my
blood like medicine, spitting from my heart like if it pumps
saliva, I conduct the fires that remain in my soul so when I
release my rhymes, I heat your mind cause I spit with lots
of soul, a hiphop prophet yo

me and bartek first verse is bartek's second is mine