Bless up troops. In giving The Mighty Shouter a canvas for him to paint, he has delivered to us a portrait of his in inner thoughts reported through lyrics that he has composed. We’re calling these excerpts WORD IS. Onward to the chronicles.

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I need to slow my train of thought down. When ideas and inspiration become top heavy and impair my ability to speak clearly and enunciate my intentions. If I confuse myself there's no point. Maybe if I organize my thoughts people wouldn't feel at arms length and I wouldn't feel so small compared to the walls I construct. Make no mistake, in a 5'6" frame, I can scale and built with the best. If it's about competition, go ask my dreams...they'll motivate you. However, we got a lot to ground to cover. Give me a second to think rather than speak freely and condemn myself.

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Keep myself in order. Recite that mantra about how the day offers opportunities not responsibilities. Besides it's no different than what you've been taught to do. Succeed. Why settle for second best...you know you're there and it takes no effort. Find that rhythm to push me. Like watching a person pushed too far, watching the adrenaline build. The tension is in the air and anything solid is now a conductor. It's amazing how kinetic brainstorming is. Bold enough where kinetic interlocked hands with potential and progression broke the seal. Potential is stationary...fuck stationary. I can do that while I sleep.

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Tiers upon tears. Piled up and creating energy for the build up to rise up. That's all I need. That and the ability to understand and learn how to keep my mouth shut. My moodswings are definitely intimidating being that they're clutch hitters. I wouldn't make it a point to recognize it if I couldn't deliver. Sparring and shadow box with my reflection, I motion hand gestures encouraging the clash. I'm a fuckin contender now and you have what I want.