my practice, has spread across the atlas,
its classic, or acid, when i go back and attack it,
to pass this, you have to be nasty like a old matress
and any one of my lines, is one of a kind,
and any of your rhymes, has been used like hundreds of times,
i cant remember the number of times, that my flow wonders the minds,
knowing you cant get better so you wanna just die,
so when i wanna just rhyme i spit right down to the essence,
not to spit but express it, to even get in my presence,
Sometimes I think it just depends, or its just pretend
Dont rub your eyes, Id rather youd adjust the lens,
at the top theres a few passing between,
they have fabulous things, all caused by these massive machines,
and they say its not about the gold you get, or the clothes you in,
but its funny how we kill each other over it,