I slam tracks perfectly, the gents meant to blend the words like herbs,
I invent the new rhyme techniques, I set trend, the culture be intact
the ritual of the rugged soul, I am not bugging, artist with the smarts,
and the heart to blaze the tracks, I phrase the facts, staying fly in an amazing act,
the Asian black, the flavour major, thoughts deeps as the pages of a pager,
The poet known to flow like moet, so phat,
out for the soul claps, mind on dough,
whips and chips and all that, a cold cat,
popping raps, no bull crap, triggers I do not pull that,
I am butter, I am a nappy headed kid,
represent the gutter, more pitches than rugger,
riches and peeping pictures of the action,
on wax I put my facts, a stacks is what I am after,
the massive passion of a Aziatic kid to rip mics,
kick the gifted lines in a hype,
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