I still stuck with the Halloween theme let me tell a gory story about this corny Michael, little john*
right before he, went falling, out in a bloody cycle, like a tampon.
when he first got his hands on, a mic, the bitch sucked more ass than a dyke.
how the false prophet meth got stopped by the reaper of death,
turned the mic on, plugged a speaker in his breast,
i dug deeper in his chest, with rhetoric to manifest,
i put the smug's spirit to the test, but not a good lyric in him left.
i ridiculed him deaf, then readily killed him in finesse.
in his distress i stole his last breath, coz a mess like you i detest,
and its wackness like you i digest in excess,
as i transgress madness, to leave a man less,
in anguish from a prophet to a petrified beaten,
nullified heathen, leave him, crucified or stoned like Stephen*.
for the final he barely qualified, now its going uneven.
i got skill electrified conceiving, still exemplified at will reaping.
i got this bitch out rapped* like he's mummified conceding.
then slowly fried, pleading, but the deal won't sweeten,
coz I'm colder than Sweden, but even meth can't defy this,
I spit explicit slick shit so sick even his computer caught a virus.
*this corny Michael, little john (his real name is michael little john)
*like Stephen (the apostle)
*wrapped
