gunn

A quick spit. . .

I show a wack mc the exit/
my rate o' change of illness, i dy/dx it/*
got that magic, still pull tricks up me sleeves/
dope with flow, yet don't do 'em sticks wit 'em seeds/
old n new, flows like the new Henny/
get caught with 'em strays, a wack one too many/
on point like a dot, bust straight from the gut/
the block pays when u duck strays from the glock/
my timin'. . . .the clockwork's overload/
ma rhymin'. . . .nonstop i overode/
. . .still analytical, calculatin' vectors/
mathematically inclined, analysin' sectors. . ./
curves n diagrams. . .dope when we snort in higher grams/
rocked with//sought with the higher hands/
ripped mics while still on that calculus/
Laface theorem couldn't tell when i'm about to bust/ i dust this//
. . .wack mcs, then i floss this wit 'em stacks n chips/
. . .don't need no D-cups when i'm about ta bust this. . ./
. . .mic, u can ask Hugo, he'll tell you who the Boss is/