T - Pulse of the rhyme

Just checkin' my microphone once As I check your audio Increase the bass response Hope n the speakers blow I got no time to sit and flip And pop bullshit Turn up your stereo hops Insert the rhyme clip Roll your windows up Make sure it7s air tight E.Q. the track exact So shit sounds right I rhyme of death And darkness and danger Your crib or car Becomes a torture chamber I write my rhymes with violence What you expect? Sounds of pain The snap of a broken neck All alone in darkness I sit each night Write my rhymes With blood upon a butcher knife You say the Ice is ill, and ill I am They try to ban my shit And I don't give a damn Roll up, your eye will get swoll up Suckers who flexed Yo, their deaths got tolled up Cause I'm not the nigga to toy with Boy with the big mouth Ya got time to riff? There's time to take you out Put a couple caps in your ass Cut your head off Send it to your mom with flowers Cause I'm so soft Lay on your wack crew Smoke the whole bunch Bury 'em in my bck yard And then I'll eat lunch Cause I don't give a fuck about you Or him or her Whenever I'm in the house A death just might occur Is this real or fiction You'll never know