Poor Penmanship

[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