Art Of Rap (freestyle)

Whatever my targets on
I carpet bomb
My man Karthik gone, wrong,
running out of sodom
with a semi lob on.
Smelling rotton, that's a horses head
in your daughters bed
cos I caught you slipping
now I'm sitting in your kitchen.

Safe crackers grey matter
sprayed back (uh),
my heist game remain dapper
gay chatter, made you sound like,
the queerest fella,
trying to tickle with the nearest feather
make you fear this cellar, you'll be here forever

I was just a teen
jumping on my trampoline,
smoking ample green
getting lean,
with this tramp Pauline.
Once she tried to set me up,
I had to trample fiends,
grabbed her by the ankle ring
and mangled her like a mandarin

Then for no reason,
I told Liam, the Cambodian opium
that I sold Ian at 4pm,
was old and mouldy and,
so he's O.D'in,
cold and he won't speak,
and his nose and his throats leaking