Mastered Craftsman

I spit at you like a 9 milli do Feel and kill a crew When syllables connect like umbilical cords Leave frauds in critical, Lord, it’s pitiful Better tell 'em I’m lethal Burn his weak crew and all his people Flows eat through his brain You can see and reach through his cerebellum Hurt a fake, when I serve a plate, no one regurgitates Every word I state rips through bones and vertebrae Increasing the murder rate My fans are placed in rehab My grammar's laced with more shit than sanitation Every man is facing contamination Heed advice, Percee P is nice Coming back to lead us twice like Jesus Christ Was my flow to blow? Now all you need is ice Got my hands traced and a big fan base From every land race Since this man laced tracks way back And never seen my damn face One of a kind Bright like the sun when it shines When it come to my rhymes If you dumb in the mind, don’t sing none of my lines Hit cities quick, like pretty chicks Perce ain’t no idiot, hit fifty six Get with me, shit, that’s one hundred twelve titties licked Count 'em Ratta tatta, like a gat I’ll shoot data at you bladder So scatter, cause I splatter brain matter just for chatter Hope you run, displays are like switch-blades with AIDS I get paid, my shit played more than kids crave Pokemon Rap deacon from that region that got acts even with gats Leaving the game and fame behind like Cat Stevens Inspired pros, retired foes Perce ain’t liable, tryin’ to blow requires dough People die at shows tryin’ to bust my rapid fire flows Manipulate rhymes, liquidate and rip a break, bitch get a whip and grapes I’ll lick the plate and them things those strippers shake In fact listen, “G”, cats dissin’ P go back missin’ teeth Acts wish to be like me - a part of black and rap history