the flats...choking on his own flatulence, deflating like his name suggests// whats next, raps about imgi9nary techs and midevil machinery// rip him to particles...leave him dissipated like a roach and some ill greenery// my raps are desolate like gray area and drab scenery// he wants to scream at me like a couple of pussies scratching// devoid of rappin..your a slave,..im a speeding Bentley crashin'...i get the whips crackin like anglo to saxon