The Next Me

Lion heart when firing off bars hot
That's the Daredevil in me. I have to escalate every thought until the concept jumps the shark

Do what fits you. Swim in it. Get righteous with it. Then go berserk.
Jiu Jitsu, women, writing and work

Bend my nights, vice lends me sight, no amends when shit ain't right,
Just re-set, re-work my fate, take the weight, send my all til it's a’ight
So please don't envy me. Every verse came with a price

Headroom needs matching? Let's have at it. Street magic, bedroom elastic, soulful praxis, I'm the total package, revisiting facts graphically adapted to crash some shit.
Instant vasodilation so no refractory period. Said it before but it's still popping. I'm like capitalism outlasting the Monroe Doctrine. Latch onto this, searching for the exact fit.

Can’t wait for the final night. Find out if I was wrong or right. The revealing of every test, wake up to dimension next. Still can't shake the feeling from my chest that I was sent back from my own death. ‘Nother chance to get life right. Carry it in every breath. Whenever I rest or rise, North, East, South or West side, inspect every shift in the tides, hold it in my eyes, check my stride, invest in each action like my neck was a fraction of an inch from the Reaper’s scythe. Depth to my roll, breath control, induce to give but never deliver a sigh. Latched to the oddest sense, ‘cause I can never be a passive audience. Every line I ever spit all of me meant. From bottom to top of my soul, unstoppable like the growth of fables. Long as there's consciousness on Earth there’ll be an honest fireburst; fecedia I wasn't the first to maintain lucidity, just the modern incarnation of fluidity, every generation produced one of me. So running the sum of all of it, tallest jests is my project. The fondest sets that show me Cosmic bets, the moments that make me scream “Oh GODDESS!” The firebombs I spike in every song I write, emotional balms from sleights, the calm before the fight, the dawn of sight, the source of life, I couldn't help but implore “Let's get it on, Creative Force, I’ll spit along with your might!” Burning through journals, books and dreadful awareness like Joseph McCarthy during Red Scare, my head carries that bear-trap tight, or your mom’s thighs when I lick her to delight. Wear everything I write, my gait shows it escapes in my hip socket stroll, rolling left and bright, unfolding zeitgeist, marred cold, hard road when you have to learn to handle dark and light metaphysical spikes before you handle bars on a bike. So far I re-set the par, beyond second sight. I reckon my every lesson will get reshuffled when I’m done as such, bitten the dust, and what was written I trust will become stars for extra-terrestrial firespitters to crush. Touched by intuitive groove, E.T. MC’s a-alike, like that’s what they’d do for a Klondike. For now that's the essence of my ayo life. Slay so I can't say what’s wrong or right. I’ll get unwinded and find out where I was wrong and right. Can't wait for the final night.