[Verse 1: Locksmith]

Stick a fork in his corpse, cordially courting
Sourcing his portion for organs, give metaphors an abortion
A portrait of poor sportsmen, endorse a remorse towards him
I torch his vocal cords till his course is the four horsemen
Your core's forcing they roar but I’m board snoring
A smorgasbord of endorphins, I’m dwarfing your dwarf swordsmen
I retort but of course no recourse for it
I’m more of a mortar that's why my reporse discord for it
I’m forming a fort, forcing proportions that pour forward
Sort of a four-fifty, your orifice you poor bitch
Forfeit, trying to spit with this n***a, I forewarned him
Waging a war, décor of Muhammad or George Foreman
Performing vocal expressions that questions the status quo
Inhabit no sense of worth when you barely can pack a show
Distracted by the fact that I was too rabid impacted by
The shit that people said, but instead let amplified
And n***as want a response, my response; "Keep waiting"
Fools rush in, smart n***as keep patient
Chasing the next man, the best plan developed wrong
Fuck rushing a freestyle my n***a make a better song
I don't know what to say