I stab a half-wit outta habit, battlin’ myself for practice / snatchin’ gold chains ‘n’ holy amulets / trade ‘em in for cocaine ‘n’ spegack, see my name upon tha manuscript / who tha fuck you thought causes cats to flip? with tha Golden Era reminiscent rap tactics, that’s visual like droppin’ 6 tabs of blotter acid / Scalastick’s thoughts manifested beyond a blog or text message / more aggressive than South to North Mexicans / I’m restive, approach tha cipher dressed in double bulletproof vested with tha pinstripes / Science Scalastick, 3 hundred-ninety-seven Fahrenheit / purge tha rhyme from my mind like a verbal parasite, Jeremiah as tha world’s paradigm of perfection / life lessons learned ‘n’ taught to the innocent who get burned by tha pretentious / I’ve been ‘n’ always have before tha genesis / thoughts trickle out the end of my pen’s tip…
Any errors in Twisted's lyrics are solely that of typist & not in any way reflective of Twist's original handwritten work. Twist reviews typewritten work sent him by snail mail, any needed corrections are made & returned via snail mail from Twist who is in belly of beast.
Listen to me spit over phone from prison, serving 12 yrs for robbery
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