paroles de chanson Poor Penmanship - Sev Statik

[Verse 1:]
Should I -have the more well known emcees on this release
Or maybe bring a new voice for the audience to meet
I could have the most radio friendly hooks and flows
But now know y'all ain't my friends in a minute turn foe
Because of the intrikit ways- the infinite displays
How my cadence moves and what my spirit has to say
I'ma tunnel rat - i'm a lip creatin' beats
I'm verbal combat - when challenged on these streets
I'ma meddafore - I don't sell in gospel stores
I'm milk crate - filled with 808's and beat breaks
Thought I told y'all - but y'all never really listened
I ain't here to bring unity - I was sent to cause division
And from that - some will get this highly twisted
Low lifes who open they mouths and start dissin'
Without really hearing - the message now communicated
The vs being finished - now you can all start hatin'

[Verse 2:]
I've combined my words with a passion that's rarely seen
Brought to the extreme length it's hard to catch a glimpse
Yes indeed I make the last minute stretch to fit my ability
And i'm realizin' now - I need a whole day's time
Infinitely, I make my rounds - 360 complete
Alleviate my bad dreams by never falling asleep
The insomniac on break beats y'all never want to meet
Seize ya whole compound to imprison ya whole fleet
Endulge in stress matches spar with self esteem
I'm far from being conerned with being hard by industry
Standardz commander in chief
Keep my vessel clean - supremly spotless I got this M.I.
C. held too tight - thats why my words is sloppy when I write
For my eyes only and sound to recite
So if this truth is not for you - keep steppin smith
I hold rich words to serve out - poor penmanship

[Verse 3:]
I am now concerned about the after life - before death
Born into a dead world to speak life thru text
My rep, my steps and every exhaling breath
To make sure my name is displayed in the lambs book
Arranged in heavenly letters - put togetha in fine thought
Across golden lines - cause my soul'ez been bought
Sold to the highest bidda - who's blood stained cross
Freed the shackled mind - and made me a nine
Even tho I hold no cuss words - I swear on His promise
To return like a thief - and lay claim to the meek
I speak on topics relavant to earth worms of sorts
And unsheeth the written sword - of 66 books
Take a look - as we pass these last days at high speeds
We indeed are in need of these TR emceez
Now free to release - His word over beats
Sev Statik - poor penmanship - til the INK depletes