I’m a young thriller. 

I’m in blue, realer. 

We are cold heart, millers. 

I’m blue up. 

The faculty are after me, it’s they, ppp. 

Young b’s with facilities. 

I’m at the party. 

My grip holds the flash I pact C. 

We take back these peats. 

I’m G. 

Bases loaded. 

I’m a’ hit ‘em, hard, like a laser. 

Burst in my eyebeams. 

Deck for the yacht means the syndicate’s on top. 

Chillin’ soft like coral cogs. 

Gorgons bus’ on hot blocks. 

Open up the plot. 

Boes is strappin’. 

Fallows rappin’. 

Bear’s got bog slum’s mappin’. 

I’m Fallows at the door. 

The bogs gore. 

Savage hordes prepared for war. 

Smokin’ you down a blunt of Endo. 

“Get out me’ long blunts!” 

I roll, “all the way up!” 

There, in the acre, at the deep, dark shadows of the Fallow’s bog slum streets, with only the moon out pale to show near a stream was a dune dale, I asked her to a dance in bog lights, and we did, “dance, like, kings and queens, wind in the trees, the stars and seas,” her in beautiful sights, and I, a freak. 

I don’t run from despots. 

Boe’s catch parol like Al Capone. 

Enough cash to cast fog. 

Bogs has predatory hogs. 

I’m the one and ‘own. 

No PO’s in my home. 

I see ‘em boes like some loam. 

Diamonds on my watch go, tic toc, it’s time for the bomb. 

Side doors open the RR. 

Emptying sticks with automatics. 

G’s in blue. 

Penthouse is in view. 

I’m playin’ aces. 

When I’m rich I’m in the gangs. 

G side we tag. 

I’m comin’ next to def. 

I’m on the internet. 

I’ D’s crossin’ 5th Street p’s then I’m gonna’, write ‘em off. 

Rollers need peat. 

You got beat.