Pyromaniac with a tight woven brain for rap

I’m sewn and connected, mind’s grown and collected

I go crazy at, times broken and left 

It’s open for head spin now smoking, psycho aiming at

Tight rope breaking, not a light bloke

Stable the wire goes fraying, he’s choking and neck less

That was dark like the light broke

Maybe that’s because I’m goated and reckless

In the mode to just end shit, byros take me back

The poems I was blessed with chosen to send spit

Tight flows made me act, cos If I’m old without saying 

I’m the greatest I’ll have to cope with regretness

Now show who can etch this, owner of pen lids

Throwing money away, also known as the bread bin

So I’m the next king, my knight’s vote made me that

Youthful but with a dino’s brain in fact, mind’s blown

Not blazed, a knife throw from sane but over

A mile hole to graves, a vile hold on phrases

Child owned spit game since then I was open to pen this

Solar on left wrist, might prevail to the Kuiper Belt 

But if I have help or can’t write at will

Then I have failed so my soul chain reacts

I don’t age in fact I’m a dice throw snake 

Eyes roll waning wrapped bones stay intact determine

How I may just act when holding the weapons

Of mass destruction I’ll put on a big show

I am for nothing but sick flows and 

Hands for punching, vowel sounds not fake personas like

The man Mclovin my soul and thoughts crammed in one and

The wind blows my trench coat and shows what I have been coverin

A pen so, awake like Kenco puts a window

Through my eyes into my centre of control brainiac