MY PATH.

Yo the hip hop fanatic at this craft,
no crab rapper can match my path,
bring your staff of punked out rappers,
I leave em in the gutter. while I bring butter,
I dope the vocals that ladies lust,
brothers think it is dope like dust,
no chorus, rugged raps, for you,
the wheels go around like a tourist,
the vocalist dope above the norm,
who cold as this, the soul the risen,
in the east, we hungry in the belly of the beast,
waring for the peace, I take you higer than trees.

The Verbal Kint in rap, the herbs are mixed like verbs,
rappers aint got no style or a trade, the laid back kid,
with the gifted fluid, mad raps flowing fluent,
show class and blast like a shell, well in hell,
I use to dwell, Now in the Garden of Eden,
where man, women and child reside,
never I have to hide the skin and my true colours,
from the corner to the docks, I get props