[Twisted Science]

world’s supposed to end, MCs know to load their forty-fifths ‘n’ nines / confide Science prescribes cyanide / tha sky is fallin’ Armageddon vignettes / my vendettas are pens as Intertechs ‘n’ what I write enters flesh so get your vest / no protection from tha kiss of death, love taps ‘n’ pecks / ya necks caress my swords’ edge, cut off your fuckin’ heads / decapitated apparitions carry backpacks with writing utensils ‘n’ bags of meth that’s dressed simple / TS is the initials of threats, theoretic rhetoric jumps off the edifice, complexer than Oedipus ‘n’ Jacosta with tha rhythm method / I get ‘em pregnant with restive subliminal messages ‘n’ confession of tha criminal element…