(sin)TAX

Fake niggaz get blitzed
and mic bites I swing swords and cut clowns
**** is too swift to bite you record and write it down
I flow like the blood on a murder scene, like a syringe
on some loud howl ****, to insert a fiend
But it was yo ock, the shop stolen heart
Catch a swollen heart from not rollin smart
I put mad pressure, on phony wack rhymes that get hurt
****'s played, like zodiac signs on sweatshirt
That's minimum, and feminine like sandals
My minimum table stacks a verse on a gamble
Energy is felt once the cards are dealt
With the impact of roundhouse kicks from black belts
that attack, the mic-fones like cyclones or typhoon
I represent from midnight to high noon
I don't waste ink, nigga I think
I drop megaton BOMBS more faster than you blink
Cause rhyme thoughts travel at a tremendous speed
Clouds of smoke, of natural blends of weed
Only under one circumstance is if I'm blunted
Turn that **** up, my clan in da front want it

GZA- Liquid Swords (whole song is banger though)

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one...wun...1