Second Hands Tick
Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass;
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He's the kind of brother that'll interrupt Mass

I'm 5'10" but I got good posture;
I was bred a hunter, not a vulture;
I use all my ken for the culture
For what's another river 'thout the moisture

I must say I'm:
Rigid like I'm Young Modulus
I, shoot I don't miss
I, see target's fate
I, know beast to sate
I, see it's hard for a lot of brothers to relate
Not going for the check, going for the mate

Only so long, you can be a sunflower
Then you gotta bear fruit, or cowеr, it's true;
Only so long, you ensconce in thе tower
Then you gotta cast your locks down in the mire
Short life of movement
Is sweeter
Than long life
Of stagnancy
So I will keep moving
Even if nigh drowning within the sea

Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass;
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He's the kind of brother that'll interrupt Mass

I'm 5'10" but I got good posture;
I was bred a hunter, not a vulture;
I use all my ken for the culture
For what's another river 'thout the moisture

Oftentimes I find it hard to mop my own kitchen
'Cause when I look into the glass I don't see my reflection
I see another brother with encumbrance on his back
Like I'm wading in the murky waters awaiting a shark attack

I could sell ice to an eskimo
Making humid raps dripping with the flow
Flying with the crow
On my shoulder;
I'm a climber
Life's a boulder;
I'm a suitcase
You're a folder
I'm a dirigible—
Individual so likely to rise
'Cause he's seminal—
It's almost criminal
Crafting the rhymes that I do
Whilst being so far from ephemeral;
I go straight on red
'Cause through I keep my head
I rather wash up dead
Than write my runes abed;
I'll pick He every single time over lead
And watch where my feet in the snake pit tread

Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass;
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He's the kind of brother that'll interrupt Mass

I pick up my pen
So words can get dancing;
I am the poacher
You keep on prancing;
Give you the Maxim
But I guarantee I'm still advancing;
Many a maxim
Making, even though the pen is taxing
I, must—my ken—relay;
Cry, 'cause life's whip does flay;
Why, have I chosen this rough way?
'Cause I get my fix from the truth I say