Name written all over the burbs
That furtive calligraphy of car park and curb
My enervations so enrage them it reduces them to slur my good name
House shows my earnings like I won a money tournament, burgher
Burners, burnouts, pipeburners
Top earnings, pipedowns, snipers, improved rifling
With an improved life I could have done Man U trials
Been involved with Saipan like
But that’s not what my palms dictated about my life
When I was five, a gypsy at a fete told me
I was fated to die by knife
Waiting to see eye whites
Mind and flesh married to ferry to fruition the fatal instinct
My only mission
Your blood’s emission
You can’t scare me, don’t dare me no bitch in this Burmese
I can’t die to that rifle you carry in your purse
Full burst would hardly turn me
That glock nine, that five mil you keep spit-shined, keep that shit hiding
Black and white, counting magpies for the luck or mischance in my life
You only get one, may as well make it fire or die trying
Ice her up like she’s the Titanic’s side, despite James Cameron yelling cut
I was there in disguise, serving out PCP pies and poison in nice mugs.
Alchemisland 
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