My rhymes make u sick, the flows knottin' ya intestines
Cuz I come after kids like post pardom depression
Ain't none guessin' and you won't get a second lesson
First one's enough to lessin' any objection to my f*** in' weapon
Bomb the nonsense get ready to witness the resurrection
Of Conscience cuz I'm on it and fillin' out confessions
Need to issue a tissue once this sickness hits you
*achoo* oh sh** it blew, my bad, did I get you?
I'm sick of this sh** and was to begin with
Hold it in too often and I started to give in
Pretendin' that it's done, finished, end of sentence
Quick to snap on a b*** and rip him like a Slim Jim
