I'm caught behind enemy lines, no guns, but plenty of rhymes.
Low on energy, I'm tryin to commit the crime of the century Lines.
upon lines of lyrics that only spirits can hear.
and only dogs can detect with their extra sensitive ears.
But the words can be transmuted to reboot the human cortex.
to cause unconscious spasms in the back of their necks.
IT'S CALLED SKILL!!
and I'm packed to the gills with the styles to transmute steel.
To liquify ice grills, kill falseties, give birth to the real.
Kevlar down, black attire, set fire to the wack rap empire.
burn down their entire complex, cutting their electrical wires.
No communication with the outside world, they rap nonsensical.
Parade flesh for cash resurrect the black minstral.
Reach in my backpack, rap to a phat instrumental, Incidentally.
an enemy guard with a security card approached with a pad and pencil.
Three quick punchlines and he was rhyming in his sleep.
stuttering over ingnorant mumblings, still trying to compete.
But it's too late, the alarms set, the harm has been done.
About seven slaves with badges approached, no mics, just guns.
The first four got dealt with by my lyrical weapons.
With stealth I bent over cut their achilles for even stepping.
I hung one henchman, through the blood drenching.
and I told him he was suspended for ignoring the teachers lessons.
Two left, think quick...what should I do next?
I grabbed the first and broke his back in a rap suplex.
The last looked at me and the carnage I had wrought,
turned and ran like hell before we had even fought.
Check the watch, what time? Shit!! Ain't much left.
I turned right, out the exit to walk up the steps.
To the roof, the steel door was boarded and rhyme proof.
but my acidic spit turned metal to liquid, The door's loose.
I saw the lights, helicopters above me, madly swirled.
They knew I was here to destroy this wack rapping world.
Bullet's bounced around me, some hitting me soundly.
in the chest, my vest exploded in a crimson mess, I'm drousy. . .
NO!!! The mission ain't complete, I get to my feet,
click the button on my belt, I hear the timer start to beep.
This point I feel nothing else, although I've lost my heart beat.
And everything below my waste is numb and my tongue is asleep.
This mission, this mission you understand, was marked impossible.
the chances of me surviving were mathmatically improbable.
So fuck that, I'll die to keep this art's heart from leaking.
I die listining to the bomb's beepin, SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE...
in 10
9. . .8. . 7 . . 6. . . 5. . . 4 . . 3 . . . 2. . .1. . .
Peace
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