Writing the Wrongs by King Bliss

Verse 1
Walk over corpses tryna get to skool courses/
Blood leak through their pores shoes look like red bottom air forces/
Bus they pack us in like mackerel in tomato sauces/
Mackin’ Mary Magdalene so she can go and get my profit/

Not Jesus, talking the root of all evil forces/
My gene cold hearted the draft I caught it like NBA rosters/
Ended 2:40 book and pen evolve into Gwyneth Stefani/
Fiends resemble Mitt Romney so I keep Obama on me/

Good thing I aint my mama's only, spot the bwoy weh owe me/
Drop his joint, took off, but he ran the Boston marathon/
Caught off guard by Osama homies/
He lack cojones and that component is why they smoked him/
Plus I hold juice like coasters/

That occultic Jim Jones mix/
Loaded like Rick Ross’ ho’s drink/
My only cult though was the colt fo’ fifth/
Rats under my nose bridge like old ships/
My nose sniff his 5-0 cent, no G-unit/

Posted like new job openings with him, smoking and groping loose women/
‘Fore we trick him to the shadows and put some holes in his fitted/
Dipped his nose in acidic highly corrosive liquid/
Never had the heart to torture victims, only listened/

Witness die ‘fore they even swear over scriptures/
Least now they Jehovah’s witness/
Shouldn't a caught feelings avoid the dentist/
Cars tinted mean ambush like we just lost Clinton/
Slugs crawl in digestive system, escargo dinner/

Belly bottom fall over denim, star witness eyes burning like they Clark Kent’s/
Cuz he no longer looks like god’s image/
Car skitted, I walk limping to my broads villa to off the tension/
Plus I got math problems to finish or its detention/
Doing divisions while my fingers trembling/

Cause boys in blue assembling/
Sending crossfire you’d think they klansmen/
Aint too wise to be by your window glancing/
I don’t suggest you chance it/
(Niggas always acting like they gon do something)

We made of Cassius though/
So we fear nada pimpin’, ‘cept our mama’s intuition/

Chorus:
Proceed with caution my nigga/
Don’t be flossing your scrilla/
I come walking with killas/
Endorphins get triggered/

Riga mortis gon’ kick in/
Then I’m palming your riches/
I write the wrongs that I’m living/
Then spit it over J-Dilla/