Pen On Display

What you hearing is a taste of my pen on display
 Another ill banger that every record manager'll play
 Got them ready to say 'the kid is nice, it ain't a question'
 Ready the next to blow in this here rap profession
 This year we're here to snatch crowns from all you wack clowns
 Make rappers back down, hear the click clack blow
 And I ain't talking about pulling burners out
 I'd rather go bar for bar cause I prefer the verbal murder route
 Heard 'em shout how they want the realness and it shows
 Cause when we on stage the people filling by the rows
 Just to hear this nigga spray and deliver flows
 Uplifting poems written in instrumentals with pretty tones
 NY city zone, used to reside in the place they called Biggies home
 Where the filthy sinners roam, now I'm in a different zone
 Writing on the daily trying to be the next king to occupy an empty throne
 Rappers heard the name a lot, so the envy's has grown
 Now they wanna see me go and be buried from the empty chrome
 Cause I got a more feel like leaving their pens alone
 I'm only here to pose legitimate treats
 To these newcomers as well as the industry vets
 What you hear is nothing less than penmanship at its best
 Leaving critics very impressed once my pen is finessed
 Something golden era-es but still future's ahead
 Verbal marksman leaving pages wounded with lead
 And still murk cats who'd rather pack rugers instead
 Used to chase women now I'm out pursuing this bread
 Making sure the fam is good and the crew could get fed
 Shining right while we (?) suited in dreads
 Walking the streets looking like (?)
 This is a rap epidemic that's soon to be spread
 Resistent to all clinical solutions and meds
 You heard Rashad is the truth, that's what the rumors were ledged
 But the proof was seen in the masses moving their heads
 On every corner of every town where my music extends
 Gotta tour cities and collect numerous ends
 With coupe sale from CD's you bootleg for your friends
 Doing overtime with the rhymes abusing these pens
 Making music for lost souls consumed in their sins
 Like a urban prophet clowed in kofis and Timbs
 I drop jews that are praised higher than rubies and gyms
 Block futal attempts from emcees who want me out the game
 Ask the people who's nice and hear the crowd shout my name
 Built a bigger rep from always reciting countless flames
 And increasing body counts of rappers from the amounts I've slained
 You sould records, but what good is your house and chain
 When your legacy is an artist that's shrowered in shame?
 I got the urge to devour you lames
 In the same mouth where my lyrical powers were made
 Hip hop is the life blood that moves around in my veins
 It didn't happen over night, I spent hours and days
 Tried to craft the perfect sound so the album is praised
 What's the result? Who knows, maybe counting some change
 Or updating the wardrobe with some outfits and frames
 The view of the blue sky is trough as I lounge in the rage
 Keep corwards afraid from these poetical works
 Pencil a to make governments issue terror alerts
 Since I hit the rap scene it's like the gym was a nerve
 Distant from birth the rhymes to the death
 With nothing but a beat tape plus a mic being left in my hearse