Grind
Grind like gears that don't fit right. Been on the mic for years so just sit tight while I spit light waves you can hear inside ya brain from outside the frame. You lames part of the scene? I'm the artist with the paint. No restraint when I empty the tank. No breaks breaking up breaks. So try and pump mine and I'll skate. I got that funk fly and it's great. Tony the Tiger on you primates. Lyrical editor, the profile predator, ready for more competitors, deaded the rest and now I'm headed for a metaphor more fitting of this deadly sword. Word war. Get beheaded or shredded more than confidential letters or a head of lettuce. Ahead of the rest and never forget it. Written or free spitting description is on a mission. Man listen... Better than the vision of an emcee presenting another top 40 image like they vocal sales pitching. Commercial diction. The worst affliction. That thirsty fiction need a real depiction. Hydrate your senses from the senseless. Get in mix spitting this rich depiction when I kick this grind While you moving sorta like rewind. I'll be the one grooving like some Heard It Through The Grapevine. I break minds with grammar. This ain't rhyming for the amateur. I swam to the deepest depths to give my mind and heart the stamina to thrash any emcee that's looking candid for the camera. Slam ya from the top turn buckle. Crash landing from/30,000 feet nothing in comparison to the real damage that I could do. Competition is embarrassing. In hysterics when its grind time on you derelicts who dare to sit and say that they're the best there is. Carelessness. Meanwhile I'm grinding. Errorless...

Grind like the teeth in your head. Molars. Rhymes with the heat burning red. Solar. I'm gonna keep churning lead weight pencil to papes til my flow puts more jaws on the floor. Pace is lawn mower blades spinning over blades of grass played as the cats that's gone slower in they're grind, but gone over they're time. 15 is over. Wake up call to your mind. Breaking spines just as a show for the crowd as I chauffeur in this style that's over ten on a scale of 1 to 5when I holster this live set a fine rhymes. Hold midi controllers watching wack lines like land mines. Each note is a soldier in my army as I over take the space that's lower. Making bass filling the speakers until they pour a lake of sound into your ear canal to get you closer in to take a look around this drum bounce with funk odor. Grind! I'm the owner that designed this. Get reminded of time when more rhyming were putting time in. Hold up. No need for you to chime in. No time for your opinion in my environment when your desire went up in fire when the challenges got higher than you predicted. Quickly you switch and skip the steps for wiring an emcee. Now you hurting like some pliers in ya mouth as I shout my sound out to catch you like lent in a dryer vent. My requirement to take this endless choir inside of my mind refine it by realigning entire minutes. Bending sentences into endless intricate images and blending this with the menacing rhythms I'm slipping into this. Grind like bone on bone. Cold Medina on this tone that I control when holding a microphone. Yo so I suppose I'll continue on my grind on some press rewind if I haven't blown ya mind…