Better sheath that blade homie,
Caustic clauses from a nauseous omi
That only spread rust from tang to blade,
Which I then use to slice you into concasse
Yakuza-born, bred with the chefs on the island
Sharper than great alpine faces, foes been wildin’
Figured you know, since you must be Swiss the way your rhymes is neutral
And steady stay idlin’…
Creeping in your jungle, marshalling Prussian mercenaries,
In the past I was described as a monolithic literary,
But unfortunately your apprentice triptychs are universally deemed tertiary
In terms of, delivery and precision, skill or wisdom
While mine showcase elite mathematics combined with prophetic visions
Yet, paradoxically, you feel me despite damage from my razor sharp incisions.
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