Yo,I'll neva fail to prevail,
the mic is my girl,
which i serenade to and be real,
im ill,
my verses are a 4 course meal,
i never tell,
just cotch back and watch this world,
roll,
i never seem to unfold,
i just kick an ill rhyme and minds mould,
put bitches on hold,
while im uppin the bass,
higher the volume,
before you get consumed,
and say grace,
that god fixed up another hot plate,
failed education and music is my fate,
i catch rep and create,
interract and devastate,
my voice box is the key to elevate,
my confidence,
coz my consicience has been ate,
ak,the ill verbalists fate.