the rhyme has to be on time
like a fight
you gotta hit just right
wether in the day or night
either way its gotta be tight
your fist must take flight
when you hit at the height
of your strength
with posture and length
and it smashes and crashes
into the face of the human race
where you leave your mark
and then you embark
on a road where you sold
your shame for honor
a time when you honestly thought you were a goner
and then in the long years to pass
your body will one day return to the grass
and your memory will live in infamy and time
to the days where your memory will be so great and so sublime
so that when your rhyme continues to age
you'll be set upon the stage
before the gates of heaven
and on the 59th minute of eleven
just one minute before the end
you'll have one more message to send
and as the seconds are counting down
with eyes and immortality watching all around
you look up from the ground
you hear not a sound
and as the last second fades away
you open your moth to say...