Album: Project X
Track: 1, 2, 3
Artist(s): Confession
Release: 2008
Pen Bleed Publishing (ASCAP)

Its critical, the only individual to throw fire
Its no lie, I spit hot like blow dryers
5’4” so you can call me mister low ridah
Just consider my raps a female virgin cuz my flows tighter
And you know it, platinum Puerto Rican poet
No distractions, I stay totally focused when I’m flowin
Metaphors born in the smoke that I’m blowin
Shine so bright that my words start glowin
I show no mercy with this one, two, three
Like Xzibit dogg, you get exactly what you see
So open wide and give a little holla, that’s what most do
I’m ‘bout to pull a mailman, cock it, and go postal
So fuck local, this thug appeal is bi-coastal
Your voice must be sleepy cuz you got some tired vocals
From the one, to the two, to the three with mics by us
When I’m crusty, if I still aint famous I’mma die tryin
Persistence in these eyes of mine, I’m not stopping
Like Tupac rockin the music box causin tops droppin
So quit talkin unless you want em all sparkin
And beware of the war when this doggs barkin; motha fucka

From the one. . .
To the two. . .
Mic check three; aint nobody fuckin wit me (x4)

The inevitable medical breakthroughs in medicine
Creating a cure for the lack of adrenaline
A veteran, a few years bustin and I remember when
I was a little sour now I’m sweeter than cinnamon
They’re lovin the rock, so I chop minerals
Just cuz I say it with a passion its not literal
One in a million, so I’m a hot miracle
Born down dirty, gentleman type, hospitable
Southern drawl dwindled over the years but its present
Livin to the point it got me sleepin double vested
Extremeties or necessary precaution
Tell me how many got shot when they’re flossin
I stay cautious every time I’m walkin
Constantly haters on the dick cuz they’re jockin
You’re stubborn like a penny pincher at an auction
The lyrical chef, so come taste my concoction
I drop em, stick em up and knock em more than often
You had madd fans, but no maps, dogg, you lost em
I stay mackin, you act the ass salad tossin
I’m pimpin from C.A to N.O and N.Y and Boston.


Its evident, a gift from god, my shit is heaven sent
Tryna stop me - its attempts of little relevance
Never celibate, raw dogg or even elegant
Fuckin thug misses to bitches actin more feminine
Malevolent towards sceptics and critics pressuring
The take over is up and operatin so its emminent
Left in desolate lands if you aint following my regimen
I’m lethal, so if you keep it real its for your benefit
Unstoppable, so I’m a force to be reckoned with
Orderin a drink at the bar, you’d better second it
Not your average, I’m a different kind of species
And if you don’t feel it than you can all eat my feces
Illest shit, so sick I’ll make ya throw up
Like dynamite with a lit fuze I’m bout to blow up
So grow up and quit all the childish games
Confession, and I’m comin with the wildest thangs
The finalist came and stormed so you were blinded by rain
This is for them other cats that said my style was strange
I still conquered, well known, minus the fame
Thinking I’m playin than you should do what (what) Simon was sayin; and shut the fuck up.


[talk] aint nobody fuckin with me. . . I tried to tell em but they don’t understand, ya know. . . So I had to come up with this mixtape. . . Hit em on the side before I release Loose Ends. . . Confession: The Moment of Truth available now. . . On iTunes, Napster. . . Rhapsody. . . Wherever the fuck you get your music from. . . don’t be bootleggin my shit. . . (Project X). . .feel free to make copies of this shit. . . Give it to your momma’s momma’s momma, I don’t give a fuck. . .