Combustion Freestyle

[Verse 1] It's like, yo Never mind the credits I'm rolling like Tina Turner With this, more murder turned up The bones are what keeps me burning Yearning for her return She should have never went so high up The grounds have been retired now I'm living from the sky up Prior to my desire to be called the Sofa Sire I was heavily inspired by the ebony papaya Hip Hop couldn't get much drier so I write a song Shine some light upon fucking chucking fire bombs till I'm an I-o-con Sick ass fuck, got pox Lyricist, hot rocks Might fuck up your snot box Swinging like Floyd with the roids in him Soiled denim when they felt my noise venom Victim to my groin growing, damn her guts got poise in them Steez, got my mojo back Cold as a polar cap Pole to your Polo cap to let you know your flows are wack Still on my havoc habits mad rap stabbing ass grabbing shit Avid, heavy rhyming like a sack of bricks Mad? Eat a saggy dick Half-witted with mad tits makes a bad mistress, but The sickest night of all if you got cash with you This is...Ja...mi....yo [Verse 2] Jazz "Mister make the bad bitches whisper" Grab a nag by the whiskers Drag, fag should've listened Hashtag, post to twitter Just to boast a little Fuck the cat, jack the fiddle Crack, that was accidental Metal bat, bash your dental This my niggas, that's the rental That's your sister? She got mad talent ass potential Now...fucking get the fucking...out my...pencil (Yeah, that rhyme)