An acapella.

1.Wordless with hatred, and perfect with placements,
This is my first thought, but took me thirty to say it,
2.I'm lacking this distance, and ignoreing this choice
I'm after my instance but before with my voice,
3.I'm composing a threat, f*** that, i'm hopeless at best,
constructing myself, but an emotional wreck,
4.I could start rhyming with gimmicks and designing an image,
This isn't rap, I'm passed being "confined to your limits",
5.And true fans get that, speaking savagely,
Most of my lyrics depressed, so I don't have to be,
6.I'm reaping this colder, till i'm speechless and older,
You can have these thoughts, if I can keep my composure,
6.I'm scolding with force, till my vocals is coarse,
Record my self, and watch these emotion's just pour,
7.I'll speak on cash views, and preach on tracks smooth,
My thoughts instrumental, and no beat to rap to,
8.My spits can gather props, or diss and shatter drops,
trying to be on point, stuck to spit with scattered thoughts...