sold me it, without chrome to blow a hole like Moby Dick. Off the dome for MCs seemed appropriate, plus I could hold it one-handed like a goalie stick. Back to the facts: blood spray splattered the grass, I left 'em lyin' in the sun like big african cats. Battling just wasn't challenging, I mastered the craft - swing the chain with the thing and that would be that. With all these heads rolling, I left fans stressin'. It's hard to make friends when their life span's questioned. I thought 'nah - forget it, I'ma keep gangs steppin' 'cause I murder crews with a used Wu-Tang weapon.' Cats wanna step to Socks? Ease back or else you get the fatal, flying (guillotine.) Cats wanna step to Bix? Ease back, or else you get the fatal, flying (guillotine.) Cats wanna step to the Flight? Ease back, or else you get the fatal, flying (guillotine.) One day I painted it crimson, as you can imagine, and named my favorite flying blade 'Little Red Dragon.' Everywhere I went you'd hear the severed heads draggin' 'cause I tied 'em on the back of my (real red wagon.) Gloks pulled out - but before they could blaze the shit, I'd kill everyone in a twelve block radius. Never discriminated black, white, or asian kids, ain't none of 'em better than Socks - even Jadakiss. Suckas got silenced with a dose of violence, from droppin' such science over mostly violins. Cats tried kung-fu - I wasn't