I, Cypher produced by Trill

Verse 1:
Consider this a notice, or better yet a bonus, a lethal type of dosage of my operandi modus /
I rock it so ferocious cause I wrote to hone this, so when I need attention I just quote my own sht /
N if you don’t know me, try n solve this riddle…I’m somewhere in the middle of a pistol n a missile, that’s a simile, the issue is I’m tryin to keep it simple…you can call me Wayne, Bruce but not Little /
I’m elite, even extraordinary…I believe you feel that this opponent’s sorta scary /
N if these boners wanna keep it street, I’ll put em in spreadsheets like a Ku Klux nerd at a mortuary /
Keep your hands up like it’s midnight…you already know what it is, right? /
Outta sight, outta mind, n I’m floatin in time, I ain’t tryin to get signed, I ain’t tryin to get mine /
That’s a common line from the whack rapper bible, full of tired clichés that were brought to you by Nyquil /
Ya Charlie Sheen winnin but I only speak titles, you keep talkin trash butcha your lines are recycled /
I’m sick, comma, nice, comma…when it gets high or low, calmer, alarmed by no drama /
Sentence btches for dishonor, predicate is trauma, the period’ll finish em before they reach nirvana /
You a goner, like gonorrhea, abolished…your flow is nonsense, close the correspondence /
There’s makers and there’s takers, leaders n debaters, you were never relevant like Howard on the Lakers /
Even if I’m getting no, mo-ney…put these phonies in the light where it’s so sun-ny /
Real talk, blown up so many spots that mister Michael Bay is known for takin notes from me /
…False senses of self, like pursuing prominence requires some air time /
…In pursuit of the belt, you ain’t at my level, you fallin back like my hairline /
Forward thinkin till there’s nothin more to see…the mic is dead yo, I hope you got a warranty