i'll make you feel-this in the form of lyrical steel-clips// i am what fakes strive for realness, and what obese cats call fulfillment// i have yet to be defined...medical journals cant catalog my illness// im at customs letting the word "kill"-slip// i kick like "beak" old school tekken flows when i let the "bill"-spit// im the spear-and-rod...you'll soon know the fear-of-god...you're hearing-sod off pop off/ in the foggy distance you'll see a head lop-off...im a highlander with no blade// and thats your soul viewing own dome-sprayed/
that all you get, cock sucker