C4. 206. UW!
- Writing/making music on my spare time
- Hooping/playing games on the weekdays
- Blasting off into outer space on the weekends
My Words are an Instrument of Death
Yo look, when I’m behind mic my rhymes are like
A set of dynamites set to explode
I’m kind of like a quiet night
before a riot incites, I compose
like a storm brewed up in the horizon
And all my anger in rap is attached to my environment
I’m like a soul that breathes fire beneath my cloak
So when I say your shit sucks, I don’t mean it as a joke
See words are just words, no more no less
Fuck that, my words are an instrument of death
No weapon can test the magnitude of influence
And I lead with my pen, an army of students
I’m the commander of a movement that will never disperse
My pad is the canvas and I paint it with words
Illustrate with emotions, cause half of the time
I don’t rap, I kick knowledge that happen to rhyme
