by your main-squeeze after I killed it. I gotta roll my sleeves up for this one: twenty-six ton beat, crushin' dimwits under thick drums. Wonder where these kids are from? Blood drips on the map, splatters Halifax, T-Dot, listen. Missioned over to Europe and into the States just to wake these fucks up like a kick in the face. No, it's not like a dip in the lake, Kils' beats swell the MP until it won't fit in the case - wait. Under the shrink-wrap, logos are embedded. You might as well cue the outro with the end credits. Steal my dumb lines? I'll steal your sunshine - forget it. Your career's over like Len's, get it? Staying fuelled off of the booze and poutine, tongue out dunking jewels on the fools like two three, and we're the reason your boo's needin some new jeans when she popped the bubble and truffle-shuffled like Goonies, ooh-wee. Me and you don't match dog, so hold that side - you're like a sad gay dude, you ain't got no pride. You're led astray, you ain't got no eyes, your Stevie Wonder hairline gets pushed like that, so pick a number: I could fade you like the barber outlined your features - I'm ill - bless you with the Fresh Kils ceasar and leave ya. Nowadays these skeeze will deceive ya, that's why they get a preview of the penis like a teaser. Ease up - I'm just spitting what I know: cursive conscript