You know everyday we as Americans become more crazy, breathe tobacco to death our brains functions taste funk what the heck even my mind's getting hazy.

When we thought we found good music we were like crap it's Jay-z, but this isn't rap this is a literary assault to those who think me lazy.

Those who don't understand literary art, I burn myself with hot glue to get warmed up for a start.

I gas my engine and all you hear is a ubiquitous joke, all that stuff in your ear is like dead man's spirits and nothing raises your spirit the dead is what I evoke.

But before I burn out and go up in smoke, I'll bring fire to my reputation and in the flames wide eyed spectators mentality's will be broke.

And let's loosen your limbs and get off subject don't object or else you will be another subject of my path of destruction, it's it doesn't matter to brain matter you can't stop what hasn't started... wait what the heck I'm becoming a Mad Hatter.

I'm clashing with the Titans but they say my limericks are gimmicks that rhyme, that my flow which doesn't exist is off time and that I should take a seat from the hot line.

But then again even my split ends come in union and nothing can stop a real poet's mental reunion.

Heck I don't even go to church but I'm in need of communion my brains so messed up but heck I already fessed up.