i tap deep into the spiritual mana....keep cold and drink the flow of tha savana...a multi slamma....wit perfect gramma, contracted from rays of gamma...intact with a blade and hamma...infact programed a spiral anit-spam hack scanner...upgraded my task manager....shot the last panzer...who thought that a day could rot away in a past manner....only a rap banner can show us the oracle.....now who talking the metaphoricals...and writes these editorials, about how my flows were horrible....i'd rather get in an orator...and show ya bitches how ta use a vocal cord.....a broken sword can't mend wit an ingot of the ore you hold....so i'll break away from story mode....and let you hear the poem i wrote....
"pencil stabbed the easel, easal thought wrong and slapped up t-pole, t-pole got pissed and involved the needles, in the midst a master peice was mingled"
which brings you... to believe that there are gods and evil....except the evils only hate...and the gods are what you make...though others believe in fate.. no matter what u take...just eat the whole plate....cause more than a million would kill ta sit in youre place.......
Peace Out,
Relic Writes