And I will admit now. It's got a weird flow. So I tried typing it out below a little different to get it to come across the way I want it to. It may be just one of those things that needs to be heard. And most likely will. But whatever.
So.. Here ya go.
Like a cyclone rated C-five, thrown inside a corked, thick-carbonated-fuel-bottle,
I'll survive...A tycoon I strive to become soon,
a model a top my throne.. I'll reside adored and in-tune. Idiotic-Hatred-you'll-twaddle..
I thrive. For these 'Narcotic pain pill' -
bottles of these hydrocodones and Norco's that'll create the quick torque needed
to inflict trouble in-vain.
To drive Full Throttle...to compose these wicked-sick chaotic flows,
as I arrive in my zone, underrated and unknown.
'Til got you addicted, I won't stop spittin' this un-restricted psychotic shit, hoes.
You're afflicted and I'm the antibiotic, bitch. 'No love' is all I'll ever show.
Til I got your necks' being constricted in these clenched fists.
Wrenching and flexing my wrists is all it takes til it twists and breaks
Committin mistakes may just consist of you being found dead in a trench or a lake.
That's it as of this second.
