they filthy fucks
what else?
mad clumsy
saw him muttering in the corner about something
yes
capital-S
bless,
then grapple with stress
the vest was chartreuse
bet,
he's part sleuth
and dark-art artisan to boot
partition the loot
disperse to veteran crews
then reinstate the old rules
warn the cynical sky scanner:
the Black man's Bruce Banner is an iCamera.
going no place because i remember yesterday
once wore his hair with a part like the Renegade
a little darker
but less handsome than Bobby Sixkiller
came with two hands and smacks for Mac Millers
i shot John Wayne like Praswell
scared straight
bet them shitstains in your Carhartts
was heartfelt
on the perfect day i tat my crew before seppuku
on any kind of list,
my name is no where next to you
bet,
in group photos i wear the turtleneck
calmly smile
with two lungfuls of purple cess
we could hit a joog or a lick
turn your mans into food with my fists
if a mog fuck with me
he's in a dune or a ditch
best believe.
that's not boasting
you were used to me rapping my booklist
indeed
a nigga might look bookish
you could be next in line to catch a hooked fist
but nah,
right?
and my little sisters out front playing hopscotch and she's like
"Dap Dunlop
don't why i oughta
i'm the fly dundada
i'm the fly dundada"
