| Fools behind my back talking shit | 
| About myself, my crew | 
| They do it in private, do it in public | 
| For their fans, in front of their friends | 
| Yet never bring it my pad | 
| It 1520 1st ave. | 
| Oakland apt. | 
| 1 | 
| Stop by and get your careers over with already | 
| You can demean us and call us elitist | 
| How sheepish | 
| So be it | 
| Ease-ed | 
| Defeatist short leaded ideas | 
| Eat it | 
| I do and bleed it | 
| Black out as heart heated reason | 
| On a Jel beat and | 
| Ya beefin' I’m over achieving | 
| In you dis-believing meaning | 
| Even knows that your breathing | 
| Conceit is a beach | 
| Ya -uckin with deep end | 
| Stepping to me and my L.L.C and | 
| You can get | 
| Count with the sheep and caught | 
| Over cousin death seeking | 
| 2-D in uneven speaking weakened | 
| Heathens you’re over sleeping | 
| In this world you can never get what’s owed | 
| And I ain’t never took a thing | 
| That I ain’t rightfully stole | 
| To meet ends | 
| I eat friends | 
| And do rent | 
| Only thing I regret’s to whom I am in debt | 
| So we stepped star to the clay | 
| Before it had readied our day | 
| On the sun | 
| And that’s done | 
| Like hope guns | 
| For those who waxwing beside it | 
| So is it every man for his island? | 
| Or every hour glass to its sand? | 
| Fuck that we taking hands | 
| In this two man band | 
| Kill in the name of the ant | 
| And we ride to die giving | 
| In the kingdom of can’t | 
| Ain’t a damn thing white or book-light about this | 
| I will take your name | 
| You call my passion your game | 
| You fools fall I’m aimed | 
| These lamb like lions can get tamed | 
| And Im’a set whip on you when I see you | 
| Service concrete | 
| Green room or street | 
| Defeat’ll come for your weak | 
| I’m a cure your sleep… | 
| No. You can’t have the hook | 
| It’s for your face, you gape | 
| We can battle for names, see who becomes who | 
| Except you don’t own yours | 
| So you can’t play | 
| You ain’t no gangster, you sleep too much | 
| And all these fools calling me a faggot when they on all the dick | 
| Just another F word for the weakest in the herd | 
| And I will wolf you! | 
| When did rap proper | 
| Go all just jester and death vessel | 
| The emptiness equivalent of rock gone hair-metal | 
| Do you wear medals | 
| Or do they wear you | 
| Like all shells will do | 
| There was a plank and I leapt | 
| Off Into the debt | 
| Of an over due set | 
| Of decades and chest | 
| Of a hound in the wound and the wet | 
| In the down of your drowned to lament | 
| Crowned in the sound of you spent | 
| When not bent | 
| Like a spear in the side of a star | 
| In the brights | 
| Of your small fear | 
| And whites of your are | 
| And bad ear gave in awe & all | 
| To the tongues of the young and incurable | 
| A Something to never numb in the blur of a durable apathy aired era | 
| Actually | 
| My words ring right and exact | 
| Over the mirror in fact | 
| Where what’s will and flesh laps | 
| See also: How kill leaves trap | 
| With respect or its head broke at the mercy of bread their big red spread | 
| across the professed and the pled | 
| And none-Luck of the undead | 
| I ain’t fuckin with bed | 
| This here’s an organ of edge | 
| And what are you OVERSLEPT? |