If I could

Steady war ready do you understand just a boy turned man if you ever lay another hand on my daughter it'll be wicked methods of manslaughter. Ever walking the path is never forsaken each step taken as I whisperer death from under my breath are you mistaken poof from that dream you've awaken.

When I was younger I was down too blaze as straight hood raised and a Ryder for every hood that gave praise no facts too sort back when I used too write on how Ackman court was a maze at night puffing the haze so don't bring me back too relive those days.

Despite that you may come swinging but I'm bringing a spiked bat. F*****g itching for war no more bitching next time it'll be a mission too get you missing this ain't no rhyme nor dissing.

Hate is fate too live at any given moment I'm willing too give killing your will too live.

Violence is a form of art when your smart you plot each thought in silence. As the blood on my hands through plans I can't ignore no more this is nothing but what is in store once more.

If you do proceed too feed this monstrous beast it's your choice too create one by fate. At this point in time your my muse through rhyme and little less I'm but hard pressed so too you this I firmly adress I made mistakes in life and I hear you did too this much is true.

All the small things I could do too you I lay in ponder but s**t are you worth an indefinite prison bit. Or too put my daughter and granddaughter through pain if you didn't exist cause only you and not me they would miss.