I twist scripts like wrist flicks, linguist with a death wish,
Syntax sinful, syllables drip, every word a crucifix.
Bars built biblical — apocryphal, cynical,
Each rhyme a ritual, coded, cryptical, clinical.
I don’t punch lines — I fracture spines,
Grind beats till they bleed like mines.
Grammar vandal, vandalized vowels,
Flow feral — I bite through vowels.
I don’t need cosigns or clickbait saints,
My pen bleed truth, my ink paint pain.
Every metaphor stretch like cellophane skin,
Wrap the world tight, now I breathe sin in.

I been sinnin’ in syntax, baptize beats,
Tongue like blade, cut bars till they bleed.
Every word a wound, every rhyme a creed,
If the flow too pure, then I ain’t freed.
Syntax sin — I confess in pen,
Every verse born, then I kill again.
Ain’t holy, just honest within,
Forgive me, Lord, for my syntax sin.

Look — I’m a syllable sniper, spiral-minded writer,
Shootin’ through the commas till the commas get tighter.
Spit venom in rhythm, venomous diction,
Every contradiction’s just friction fiction.
My grammar got grammar — call it meta in motion,
Breakin’ down patterns like linguistic explosions.
If they bar count, I’m calculus class,
Turnin’ beats into graphs, every kick a math.
Rhyme so coded, AI blink,
Syntax glitch when I overthink.
Still human though — dirt in my teeth,
Still built this throne from beneath.

I been sinnin’ in syntax, baptize beats,
Tongue like blade, cut bars till they bleed.
Every word a wound, every rhyme a creed,
If the flow too pure, then I ain’t freed.
Syntax sin — I confess in pen,
Every verse born, then I kill again.
Ain’t holy, just honest within,
Forgive me, Lord, for my syntax sin.

Language my weapon and my wound.
You can rewrite a past, but not the tune.
Every bar I bend is confession and curse,
Every rhyme I perfect just make it worse.

I’m half saint, half savage syntax addict,
Break beats like habits, rhyme scheme tragic.
God made flow, but the devil made tempo,
So I play both sides like a preacher in limbo.
Don’t quote me — decode me,
I write holy graffiti low-key.
Every scheme a sermon, every breath repent,
Every pause just time well-spent.
I don’t chase charts — I chase chaos,
Write laws in dust, then wipe ‘em off.
If truth a crime, then I plead bar-guilty,
Still filthy, still built me.

I been sinnin’ in syntax, baptize beats,
Tongue like blade, cut bars till they bleed.
Every word a wound, every rhyme a creed,
If the flow too pure, then I ain’t freed.
Syntax sin — I confess in pen,
Every verse born, then I kill again.
Ain’t holy, just honest within,
Forgive me, Lord, for my syntax sin.

Bars don’t heal — they haunt.