The Process.

[KON-TEMP’S FLOWS] – Exhibit C.

 

 

 

 

The process is piece by piece with repetition of ill matter
I’m on a mission to fill fatter spots than ducks splatter

Duck & gather your things & run far
‘Cause I’m flippin’ this spit in your eardrum

My repertoire is to come correct with this affection
Alarming like detection / ‘cause I’m startlin’ you

With effects from sessions / & then next,
My words will bust through your head like sex lust

‘Cause you’re bein’ fed with this verbal lead of complex thrusts
Shit’s ill / as I switch up the sick skill,

Flipped / unexpectedly like fate when karma trains slip
Off track & spill / destiny / a wreck successfully in check

Like you’ll be / when it’s your face that I fill
With toxic cum of Holy Shit

Spillin’ ridiculousness of ill words of sickness on your tits
I flip & smoke the tree,

Lettin’ it loose over the façade of God’s land,
In my own space pod / I command the beat

& enhance the mindset / for you to understand
The deceit in bittersweet trances of silhouettes

In fact the threat / of cracked regret / of shit lost
Is past / so I can cross / & surpass the laws

That’ve been lettin’ tax upset the bots
Who kicked back / relaxed / & forgot the max cause,

The facts that don’t pause / in bein’ more ever present & clear
Than the voices a paranoid s-s-schizophrenik hears

Enter Fear: I am near the horizon that’s Blood Red
& I’m feelin’ the rain starting to sprinkle with the wind
I’m parting with sin. -MIKE EYE

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