Second Hand's Tick

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Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt Mass
I’m 5’10” but I got good posture
I was bred a hunter, not a vulture
I use all my ken for the culture
For what’s another river ‘thout the moisture
I must say I’m
Rigid like I’m Young Modulus
I, shoot I don’t miss
I, see target’s fate
I, know beast to sate
I, see it’s hard for a lot of brothers to relate
Not going for the check, going for the mate
Only so long, you can be a sunflower
Then you gotta bear fruit, or cower, it’s true
Only so long, you ensconce in the tower
Then you gotta cast your locks down in the mire
Short life of movement
Is sweeter
Than long life
Of stagnancy
So I will keep moving
Even if nigh drowning within the sea
Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt Mass
I’m 5’10” but I got good posture
I was bred a hunter, not a vulture
I use all my ken for the culture
For what’s another river ‘thout the moisture
Oftentimes I find it hard to mop my own kitchen
'Cause when I look into the glass I don't see my reflection
I see another brother with encumbrance on his back
Like I'm wading in the murky waters awaiting a shark attack
I could sell ice to an eskimo
Making humid raps dripping with the flow
Flying with the crow
On my shoulder
I’m a climber
Life’s a boulder
I’m a suitcase
You’re a folder
I’m a dirigible
Individual so likely to rise
‘Cause he’s seminal
It’s almost criminal
Crafting the rhymes that I do
Whilst being so far from ephemeral
I go straight on red
‘Cause through I keep my head
I rather wash up dead
Than write my runes abed
I’ll pick He every single time over lead
And watch where my feet in the snake pit tread
Ticky ticky tock goes the clock
Walk fast like a hawk flies fast
See the second hand pass
Do you really not see?
Father Fate is truly crass, yeah
He’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt Mass
I pick up my pen
So words can get dancing
I am the poacher
You keep on prancing
Give you the Maxim
But I guarantee I’m still advancing
Many a maxim
Making, even though the pen is taxing
I, must, my ken, relay
Cry, ‘cause life’s whip does flay
Why, have I chosen this rough way?
‘Cause I get my fix from the truth I say

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