Demo

"DEMO"
P-MAN

P-Man:
Kickin' tracks with homies, sky high, were gonna fold ya, cause I need the ends to stack from LA to Pensicola. Out to win ya over with my devoted soldiers. Told ya, cause I showed ya, my lyrics so strict they gonna scold ya. Rrunnin through ya, do to ya the things that leave you to dread. We bomb ya, no where to hide when atomics impound ya. Pound you down till there's nothing left but dusty death, and I bet, that he wept when he breathed his last breath. Never trust, this legion, be aware, or won't be breathin', giving all of you heathens somethin' real you can believe in. Christ or God, His name, say it proud, never in vain, died a death of His choice, saved our sins with own his pain. We refrain, riding in on stallions, haters be fearing my talents. Callin up my posse, buck 'em down with batallions. White horses, of course this be the riders of apocolypse. Stacks and grips, backing my words: semi auto clips. Toastin' 'em, roastin' 'em, with a dose of what's more to come,
lyrics spun, like a loom, off a mad vocalistic tongue. Watch you quiver when I deliver this cold metal sliver. It's too late, cause you hate, now dumped in the river. Bet' learn this quick, before your blood runs thick. It's sick how fools, they try to test me--end up stiff as a brick. On this lick with my tactics and antics all these frantic semantics. You lay entranced, cause that's how I stack grips. Bloody walls, the ceiling fan run red--bloodied up again. Murder with a stroke of my pen, you fry, you die, sizzle in acidic drizzle. Burn in flames, your chance of survival just be too abysmal. Haters you see be gaining P-h-n-Ds, gained through misery of me and the rest of my G's. Oh please--can't you see? Read my lips easily: f-u-c-k wit' me, ya end up d-e-a-d.