QUARTZ

My microphone has grown out of my wristbone/ I've lost control of my vocal tone, spitting this shit chromed/ I'm possesed by hip-hop delivering spirit/ I fear it because my hand is constantly scribbling lyrics/ I can't eat, or even sleep in my bed/ Tormented because a beat will always creep in my head/ I can't listen to a drum loop without timing it/ Can't hold a conversation without rhyming it/ I walk down the street and my brain's known to rattle/ Because I'm thirsty as hell for a mother fucking battle/ I have no TV, already broke it in three/ Because I turn it on to see another whack emcee/ I have lyrics in my head, they always stop and then go/ I constantly daydream about rocking a show/ Write my rhymes all my life as it begins and ends/ Broke as fuck cause I'm always out purchasing pens//Verge in the microphone, you begin to panic/ Because I'll make the crowd seem the like the Atlantic but your style is frantic/ It's so whack the store banned it/ Had people covering their ears saying I can't stand it/ My style is so fly you can't land it, I bring the supply because people demand it/ My rhymes stand alone like they were a bandit/ Three hundred and sixty degees my shit's outstanded/ It's so smooth it feels like it was sanded/ Figures of speech make me smile like you were uncandid/ I'll pass you like you're a hand-it/ When I come with rhymes that punch like a fist/ Taking your microphone so fast cracking the bones in your wrist/ Seperating you from me like mist/ Eliminate the competition, by spitting from every dimension mentioned/ Benching emcees for flenching as I build up tension/ Clenching the number one spot/ Leaving your body to corrode and rot//