up and outta no where walking the thin line/ to rake in b****** each and everytime stopping leeches that think they're lips linked to no sense rhyming bars can spit/ this is it getting better every bad step i link tihnk of me as the spirit to smash the trash you rhyme/ you try but six doesn't when i need to spit, plant my pen to a blank sheet and the bullets that sway between lines are never over the color of the sheet(blank)/ this is it no more bars cuz i don't wana spit, what i'm willing to do could be compared to a phenomenon like the earth is split, though i don't drift and die in the space that the ball fit, i bounce cuz the gangsters are even bound to get brain sick when the young kid lets his chainsaw rip mid rip switch to the blade that for he's a better fit, fit!