Speakin of rhyme
I just came in time
Mr. Clean is bringin it back
flippin the tracks
cleanin the wax
while u smokin your pot
i'm like a boiling kettle, too hot
I rip the mic, like it's paper
cuz i'm hip hops last saviour
cuz i don't have stupid behaviours
I eat tuna with capers, on a sliced up bun
With a side of sprite
listenin to dee light, sike
I just just chill to kweli
watchin old school fights, like muhamid ali
hittin formen, like it's stormin
in the night of a desert paradise
with rotten meat, that has paracites
too bad i'm fraid of hiehts, and the nights
or else i would leave this hell whole i'm in
oh too bad i can't swim
and the lights are getting dim
i'll just stay quiet before i might sin.