To whom it may concern: put my name on the board/ cuz' if we're playing this game, you should stay in the port// Cuz I'm never gonna lose what you're never gonna feel: it's a stab to ya lung like, "Fuck, that's REAL"//// To whom I never meet, met, call it what you want/ She's a queen, see me bleed red/ dead are you, the pawn(s)//better proof this bond I can intuit appear: I seen pussy teleport, and I've seen bitches in the mirror////

It's a nice night to see a white knight expire/ the velour corner sportin' [an] opponent in dope attire// you're a no-nothin' oak in the spokes/(Michelin fire)/ Hell no I don't reset, I'm a Mayweather for hire////with a single exception, I'll never retire/ If I'm vexed, then next prick I'll put in the pyre//when the flesh singe that's when I'll begin to smile/ My Messiah will sigh, like, "Okay, my child, it's been awhile"////And I'm just extra small, best egress a tall shout/ that's less depth to fall/ this is not a callout// cuz' you bad, true that, but I'm worse, true this: Only one of us know the other dude's even in the mix//// She can say that I'm not. She's not an object, trophy, or bed-notch. And I'm not a harmless dope-fiend. Not for no reason am I stuck on seein' her as my wife, for.

I'm a lover, I love her enough to fight for her.

Pt. 2: The force at large/ the cosmic eternal/ God on a church-hill/ seeing the sill on the seal of the summer heat/ stroke-stricken and speak// no piece of the code unknown to most and hidden where ghosts go to get rid of me/ smoke bones in the chimney//// Cloak drones in a city/ been overdosin' on criminey/ coke floats if the chemistry boasts so from the mezzanine// old folks get ahead of me/ so close it was meant to be/ enemy sentries sent to me/ soul-bent on the death of me////Is that an apt definition of esoteric industry?/ When mum's the word cuz nothing is certain from verbal rendering// Curtain calls in line form the only forum that keeps me alive/ I need to know how to be like the angel sent to me//// So fuck it, I'll surrender the outcome if you make me/ Lord knows optimal roundup ain't synonymous with "Bailey"// A lifetime rich to the gills ain't hardly a kind of paycheck/ I would trade it all, including my balls, for ////

HOOK