THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[Mr. J]

First row seat, so close I got hands to shake.
It's all butter now call it that land o' lakes.
Pursuit slowed down after it ran those plates.
Watch out now! J hit like he rammed those brakes.
Swerved, barrel rolled, gymnast land, oookaayyy
Your style sad, what assumptions is a fan gon' make?
Stacks of bread, cheese, lil' ol sando plate.
Pan fried, deep fried how is you going to handle fate
The bushes rustle, the shooter is camo faced.
I built breath, breathe, your conscience ran away.
Cooks gamble, great, how do you channel taste?
Everything is mixed in, let the oven and candle blaze.
Work to be done to reach Marlon Brando's weight.
Bleach at first, soap then water, shampoo delayed.
I can hear the anxiety in the rambles of pain.
Brushed & swept the debris and shambles away.
Watching the inexcusable explicitly.
How could they accuse you of getting me?
Throwaway like a reusable identity.