stylistic mentalist limericks listed, reflections of Twisted’s great existence since tha cave emission/ laced as God’s derivative in camouflage ‘n’ Timberlands, my stompin’ grounds is purified thought in which I live within/ pistol whip ninjaz in their tenements high on stimulants, not givin’ a fuck, I have sex with willin’ participants/ conditioned since tha whip flipped ‘n’ Hense gripped death, rap is in a dress, deflect tha hits from tha head/ I give double death with couplets of threats, hunt you like Bubba Fett ‘n’ Han Solo for Jabba mercenary – like/ this verse is paradise, my rhyme’ll parasite you at 3 hundred thousand Fahrenheit…