Artist Piece

Flows of a serpentine style

So be afraid when I spit

Cause the venom might hitcha

Words that cut like a hot knife on butter

But can also spit words more soothin than your lover

Quicker to grab one of my poems and get warm under the covers

Just a shadow of the past ideals of man

I'm a Poet I know It I aint her to gain no fans

Flows that leave ideal minds mesmerized

Above the real influence that people idolize

Far beyond the call of duty

My words are abusive, intrusive, wont quit till they win a spot in your mind

The Real He Who Must Not Be Named

So then what's my claim to fame

My serpentine style, my venomous wit?

It will all come to light the moment I spit.