FIEND FOR GREEN

Moves be slick, rhymes are sick,
hater get moody, off them, while I write gems,
the hymns be off the hook like a cook,
in the kitchen, cooking birds or raps are hitting,
meant for pitching, I send out the drama on the plastic plates,
the carma is to prolific, kicks on the beats,
thick format off the sheet, stick to strictly rapping,
with eyes wide open, wonder what can happen,
if there was no rapping? My peeps be starving,
the streets will say amen to no culture,
youth I sculplture like shaping,
the nighttime volture, sky scraping.

The garden of Eden is here,
the gods are here so no fear,
the choclate boy thunder fiend for the green, in your ear,
the brownskin boss is here to stay,
flex and I lay text on wax, the facts stack like a bricks,
chedder under the matress, my business have cats mad stressed,
witness the sickeness of a dizzy flow, all that Moet,
I wet my peeps with, do not talk beef, PraShawn is playing for keeps,kid.