polyphony.

verse.

get in line son, i'm second to none/
talk to the back of the mic/stand/back
when i'm flexin my tongue/
grip lungs with my right hand/
and clamp down til ya breathless/
fist deep in your chest, spittin'/
lethal injection-your shit's overdue for inspection/
my dialect never lackin-pristine with the vocals/
this heat got satan sweatin' and murderin' hell's locals/
cats want honesty, i got it,
i'm not the best that ever lived/
but show me the best and best believe i best any verse that he gives/
and yo, any person that spits, leavin' swallowin his saliva/
your image is contrived, i/
make bombs with pen and pads like i'm macgyver/
makin lightwork outta heavier cats who
spit on heavier beats/ with heavier raps
you somehow managed to cleverly creep/
into my section-cross your fingers while i get ugly and handle business/
lines so cold when the dope drops, got fiends thinkin it's christmas