They call me a Warrior

They call me a Warrior...

Yeah, gimme a pen and paper, instead of a sword and shield,
Ma rhymes cut-sharp like razor, to fight the bold and zip the mean,
Fuck it if ya are a street hustla, ya can't unfold this game if ya ain't a microphone fiend,
No more pride in being a Soldier, that was what I've been all thru ma teens,
From a Soldier to the Monarch, like King Arthur, let ma past get cleaned,
Let ma failure get no further, past gone, future unknown, and the present is me,
Got many empires to conquer, let it be done, back is the classic song, thank N-ST,
Ma rhythmic composition bein' taken to the maximum,
Datz the latest axiom, I'ma get your mood off tedium,
But, ya aint havin' sense of appreciation, ya rule the hatred-nation,
Ya hate me when I rhyme coz I stand tall on an Alpine,
Your soul aint fine, not worth more than a dime,
Ya fear that I'ma take your girl, don't hate me son, ya'll find yourself in a swirl,
Haha...I make your soul burn, coz ma music makes the crowd twist and turn,
Ya offer me a perfect ego-clash, but I offer ya a tight bash,
Take it easy, ya cant survive ma improvised lash, 100% preferred to your trash,
True that I aint havin loads of cash, but I can double it with ma dash,
So, put the mic down, and prevent ma mash...nope??
Get ready for the big blast,
Get to the top and refer again,
'They call me a Warrior', the perfect choice to lead the maneuver,
And be it whatever, I'ma be the connoisseur to stand and deliver.