Milk Carton Mugshot (song)

I'll open emcees like a surgeon do,
but only instrument of incision is this, the pen I move:
offered scalpel; taught to grapple so I sought my battle
picturing opponents in Chicago and then popping cattle.
You can kick all you want atop that glossy saddle;
your sloppy-babble copy-rap spit like babies droppin' rattles:
lost and addled, stopped and captured, fed and grown by hope for rapture,
your stature stretch and clatter like Earheart when gravity grabbed her.
I just implied force by staring at the high horse,
glaring like my eyes torched as I warn of nigh storm;
the gallop that resulted shook the boots of the militias -
in attempts to revolt, their frail hands freed fickle missiles.
The name is Ferret; I'm a native of the thistle,
born to tour the forest floor and never listen to the whistle;

had my wishes whisked away and all their names changed -
crystal vision slipped to gray all in the same day.
I ask my sister where the pieces of the game lay
'cause something must've flipped the board; at least, that's what the brain say.

(what the brain say?)

We were so close to victory
but then we handed off our hams and now our souls are smoked, hickory -
we were so stoned; our kiss was green,
now I'm lost: a milk carton mugshot is all my brilliance be.

Bent, my vision did ascend the hierarchy to become a daydream and then the god daydreams had guarded.