Twisted, in 33 degrees of crimson / it was written in calligraphy, considerably, bringin’ fate like Grym Reap / what tha fountain pen scripts is like Mao Tse ‘n’ Lao-tzu / I philosophize for tha commoner / hands on my nuts ‘n’ my bratwurst /vox populi needs to be led ‘n’ doctored ‘n’ fed reality in bitty bites / Rudyard Kipling with a mic, my pen’s ink needs to be sanitized before it anesthetizes with might / XO XY chromosome full grown / my pull is like a hundred bones laced with coke / get a numb feelin’ from tha drug rap I’m dealin’ / save that B-list 15 minutes of fame, don’t bring it to a real kid / my 16s’re so dope they’re higher than Sistine ceilins / I keep my pen concealed ‘n’ reveal it when I feel I must defend my namesake / fuck it, my name ain’t worth me layin’ in a grave…
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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