Times Are Bleak

[Verse]
They say your only good as you last
Live and let die, MC's get the mustard gas
Because people are born free, and enslaved in artificial civilization
No written diction can replicate my grave calibration
Spitting tonic phonics for hedonic acclamation
A witty quote proves nothing
So I put meaning to words I'm puffing
I spit classics on plastic
You hear vinylheads saying, put it a few grooves back
Always ambitious to hear my raps
I keep my pad ill, rhyme with mad skills

The sun don't set on this rap shit
Twenty four seven, three sixty-five