I'm not a poet.
I don't care if this **** rhymes.
Or if when I deliver it
I keep in time.

If this was a rap battle.
Bet I'd get destroyed.
They'd walk rhymes around me.
Fill fat purses with on the fly verses.
Drop that **** on me.
Thinking they're so ******* cool.

But for all the jumpin around
I see all these people doing on stage,
For all the time they're up,
Standing stooped like a dragons
In fits of rage.
They aren't standing for ****.

You can shout louder.
And talk faster all you want.
But this isn't the O'Reilly Factor.
Those rhymes,
Come from a dictionary.
Arbitrary and praying for cash.

That game's from the streets.
And those mother ******* streets are cold.
Put up the fire.
I don't need you in here with
That ice in your chest.
And flaming head.
Licking and spitting them.
Feet stepping in them.
Stomping around like a kangaroo,
Reading the map all upside down.

You're seeing the world all wrong.
"**** ******* get money?"
******* go home.
Give that **** to a shelter.
Because a lot of people don't have one.