The False Reality of Martin will be stuck inside your brain,
Surpassing every author; similar to The Girl on The Train.
Ladies Prism will follow, shattering romantic embrace,
Stop supporting whack author’s; they’re a disgrace.
The written word is like my secret elixir, emitting more light than a fixture,
Blasian legend; targeted threat–a passionate, lethal mixture.
Only one remains A1 since day one, the hatred and jealousy continues,
I smell the envy in the air at every venue, you’re just more food on the menu.
You either have to cut off the cancer or murder people underground,
Either way, I exit unscatched, and continue laughing at you clowns.
The truth hurts, so what I write offends the weakest,
Islamic logic that can blow a disbeliever into pieces.
Working ahead of my time because the future matters,
My queen is becoming badder, she’ll shoot out like a bad bladder.
Truthfully: violence doesn’t create any resolute solutions,
Impossible to mess the king up, experiencing remarkable evolution.
Writing the genesis, you won’t see the end of it,
Outliving my most ruthless enemies–astonishing penmanship.
Overwhelming any vicinity, snakes act like friends to me,
Politicians say I’m a troublemaker, more deception spewed out by the industry.
Snitches are forbidden from contaminating my environment,
I’ll stop writing fiction for a couple of years, then come out of retirement.
Treasure Words Publishing is a literary goldmine, take that,
The only thing written down is pure, syndicated facts.
Far from a capitalist, but I want it all, even when I fall,
The footage I produce is always uncut and raw.
Winning takes confidence, courage and charisma,
I always knew I was going to make it, prepared to deliver.
Everything is hard hitting, the government fears my position, they hear my roar;
Turning down deals, investing in agriculture, land and real estate; hotter than the earth’s core.
Street credibility is the loyalty I cherish the most–character and honor
Everyday I get hotter and become a little bit calmer.