I ain't paranoid bro there's cunts out to get me, I'm constantly armed with a cut throat and machete, constantly fighting fucks, who know me name but ain't never met me, claiming to have apparently owned me, ya couldn't stand up against me with crew of ya besty's, ya most probably Westys, inbred small balled roid muchin weak knees, you defs don't wanna battle me, you'll end up like everlast after the eminem beef, I'm guessing that you like your teeth?, if not, that's ok everything's sweet, I can happily help remove them with the wrench under my seat, so we can easily meet, any place and in any street, but for your health, I'd defs be heavily armed, cause there's a 85 per cent chance that you will defs end up harmed, so it's all up to you, the balls in your court, but im truely hoping this ditty has helped change your thought. But if not, I'm happy to wait for a reply, I guess it just depends on how much you really wanna die.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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