12/2 iambic, icon, illuminate, ideology, ignition, implicate, infantocracy (def:goverment by an infant), ignorant, ingenious,

Steve the ingenious icon illuminates any path that I'm on, implicated in the murder of any beat that I rhyme on/ when I'm gone, the ignorant will spread their ideology, rhyming i's but without j hiphop would be an infantocracy/ puzzled by this prophecy pentameter's iambic, that's the way I planned it, new ruling king I AM it/ punch you once then I-reland it,  abuse a beat like Ike, matter of fact more Joe Jack the way I incessantly beat up mics/known to speed up fights my fire ignites the ignition, I'd like it if you listen, I've got the pot but no pipe to piss in

12/1 don't forget...

I don't drink to forget, I drink to remember. Reminiscing and having kids are the only ways to live forever/ I will never, disregard the circumstances that caused this kid's rage, which is why I tattooed 'nunca olvida' on my ribcage with a switchblade/ been rippin this since sixth grade, but still stay relevant, puff tree heavily with the memory of an elephant/ heavensent but hellbound, spellbound from chronic vices, rememeber me for lyrics that serve as pnuemonic devices. 
  

11/30 why wait?

A true procrastinator has mastered 'i'll wait till later', I ain't trying to be a hater so just consider this a favor/ why wait unless you're a waiter, waiting is weight that weighs down fakers, to all you wasted ac slaters there's several ways to skin a gator/ shit is layer upon layer of putting off get nothing done, lemme tell you something son life ain't happy fluffy fun/ shit is rugged rusty guns, dusty rum and bad liquor. why wait? grab a snickers and slap bitches out they knickers!

11/25 tryptophan trip with fam

We travelled hundreds of miles by plane to visit fam in a distant land, thanksgiving brings out the best in this recovering Christian man/ listen man, ill take you back the inside track on a tradition, for a couple years running we'd stay at my sister's for thanksgiving/ see, me I like to cook, I find the process quite relaxing, boombox bumpin Michael Jackson, kitchen knives ignite the passion/ dicing slicing action in a fraction of the time, remove the turkey from the brine, generously coat with thyme/ oh it's time to stuff with stuffing, stuff that stuff right in the oven, get back to the pickup game of football cuz we're down seven to nothing/ puffin chron when mom ain't lookin, drinking beer while dinner's cookin, watching hours pass by but it seems this year we're mistooken/ or mistaken, I ain't fakin went to check progress we're makin, peep the turkey time to baste it, maybe pull a piece off and taste it/ then "oh shit!" I must be wasted, how could things have gone so fuckin wrong? Spent an entire day cooking and noone turned the oven on... Damn. 

11/24 the bad...

Then there's bad. Bad is a word that was flipped so we could strike back, plus the name of the third solo release by mike jack/ bad is a blow to the beak with a spike bat, or learning that the mc of your favorite song didn't write that/ bad is a poorly timed hi-hat or a weak kick, or when Victoria won't let you in on her little secret/ bad is when your dime turns out to be a freak bitch, looking for every Tom dick and Harry to sleep with/ peep this, bad's the state of mind when you can't see the silver line, choke and can't spit a rhyme, punishment don't fit the crime/ in a different time bad was facing a recession, I say bad is being lied to to and we still ain't learned the lesson/ bad's a case of coke depression dropping the blunt during a session, thinking this day was bad but more worried 'bout the next one/ bad is always second guessing an not trusting your own gut,  blamed for crimes you ain't commit but the culprit won't own up/ bad is bourbon thrown up, wifing a known slut, crooked cops with blind eyes for some cash and a do-nut/ oh shucks! 

11/23 slept. tropic days of thunder...

I'm a- topic hunter that will bring the tropic thunder, make mc's stop and wonder why I'm on top they're often under/
spit a dropkick hop then punch ya lyrics sharp enough to puncture, you're microscopic not enough to stop this hotness the prophet punk'd ya/
better off in a bunker hunkered down noone around, the music'll dull the sound, kick it over mull around/
I'll leave your skull in ground, dumb it down so masses get it, we massive so forgettit flag half masted blast beheaded/
get to mass the master's said it, I'll outlast surpass pathetic, call the medics and ambulance, these clowns don't stand a chance/
all they do is chant and dance, wear big pants and try to act hard, while I'm so potent should be glass jarred for runnin laps around em: NASCAR. 

11/19 Connect the dots. mustache, calipso, Steven Segal, dust bowl, Area 51, drum n bass, the Netherlands, DMT, fingernail

If you must ask my mustache is the place where I save coke, can't live in the Netherlands cuz  my rappin ass'd  stay broke/ I'd be smokin dmt, shovellin blow in my fuckin face, at club area 51 dancing to drum n bass I love this place/huff duster from a dust bowl while the dj spins the disco, paint my fingernails black and feel the rhythms of calypso/ oh shit yo! There goes Steven Segal and Cisco! I knew the Dutch were behind but who'da thought that they'd be this slow?!