Ok, here it is Ladies and Gentlemen, keep it clean.(If you want) Drop your hottest rap lines in honor of true Hip Hop. I guess I'll go first.Let me start this off by saying I'm a mixture of booze and barbiturates/
Verbally sick with it, holding a Oxycontin trying to figure out what to mix it with/
Articulate, pleasuring various women in my area and calling it community Outreach/
When in reality I give lengthy sermons on masturbation and I practice what I preach/
This one chick from Belize did some shit you wouldn't believe/
She had me begging for the booty not understanding that I'd wait in vein like a blood disease/
So I eloquently stated my point, the whole time rolling a phat joint/
The next thing I knew she gave it up faster than a prostitute being held at gunpoint/
So Then there was an epidemic at the clinic, I was scared y'all/
Clutching my doctors jacket screaming, "Like a wack female wrestler, women are my downfall!!"/
I was clean but felt strung out, until my ex girlfriend was "brung" out/
I forgot I nicknamed her "Jordan", because she plays with many balls with her tongue out/
But I quickly dismissed her advances when an MC stepped up wanting to battle Humanity/
But it was a transvestite rapper, so I said "This chick really has some balls to battle me!!"/
Despite a 5 O'clock Shadow and deep voice, he/she couldn't stop me/
I said "Meet me on my blog" and "Your going down faster than a lesbian kamikaze"/
As if I was scheduling a hooker this is my best laid plan/
Bloggers step your ass up and spit what you can behind the mic stand/
42 comments:
The Critic think he nice, but I got news for him /
I got the report that he's wack from Tabitha Soren /
So let the battle commence, i ain't half seppin' /
I'm convicted in 3 states, my verbals skill's a lethal weapon/
Now that I've used my trite line, and disposed with the pleasantries /
let me relay this story that happened the other day to me /
I met this cat downtown who stepped on some battle shit /
I told him bring it on, why we gotta wait for it? /
He said "who goes first, what are your preferences?" /
then threw out a verse that was weak like the Critic's sex references /
i thought this was ironic, as wack as it could be /
the rap equivalent of Critic's 2-inch pee-pee /
so I cocked back the hammer of my lyrical lexicon /
the shockwave was immense, a couple a megatons /
this guy had the gall. he throw another verse! /
much to my dismay the shit only got worse /
with the force and speed of a roundhose chuck norris kick /
i dispensed of his ass like your mom turns a trick /
this guy just became another notch on the belt /
rapper's catchin feelins that shouldn't be felt /
you can't hold a candle, the shit just don't add up /
I'd recommend you call your crew and ask for some back up /
when they show up I'll ask em plain, why you down with this wack bitch? /
the response will be arms raised, I guess all they heads itch /
then it will begin, the Critic Defection /
crew leaving you the way you lose your erection /
I'm disapppointed by the lack of response you are getting. This could be fun. ;)
I wrote this verse for a track I'm making called Soul-ciety; check it;
Look around us now, we lack our souls/
in the way we act and words we spoke/
pay a premium for designer clothes/
the cars we roll and in Jacob's gold/
Hell froze and rose to this cold cold world/
suckin' away life of the young and old/
that the devil stole, but we gladly disrobe/
exposed, offering the essence we hold/
we stoop to new lows as we lose control/
like zombies we walk in the city smoke/
lookin' for dealers dealin' bags of soul/
jack a life and shoot it up head to toe/
If I could escape from this world we know/
then truth be told, do consider me sold/
I wanna leave so-ciety I know/
Take a trip to Soul-ciety I go/
I don't write rhymes or cheques so just did this for fun.....
I’ll wake you wack emcees up like Red Bull and No-Doze.
Cuttin’ fake ninjas in half with samurai sword flows
Rip ya brain out ya head where snow white coke blows
And dance on ya corpse like catchin touch down throws
I’m from the Great White North, where polar bears eat men
And cats learn to spray gats before they reach ten
The home to hockey fights, fake tans and cold nights
Where gay dudes with skin tights happy they have rights
So don’t sweat the technique over fireplace heat
Caught with an O in your pocket, that rap’ll get beat
That’s why we smoke more ‘dro then snoop dogg and a ho
Only care about ice, when it’s forty below
And cos I’ll tolerate your shit, don’t mean I’m soft
It’s just my free health care got me on Zoloft
I’m a Canuck Mike Tyson, hungry for your ear
While you read ill rhymes over beats you can’t hear
*** hype man ***
So who you gotta battle?
***/ hype man ***
Yo, this two minute man, who can use both hands
Who you know deep down inside he a Li’l Jon fan
A fat chubby blogger, an inflatable clown
Hit ‘em a million times and still won’t hit the ground
*** hype man ***
Cos weebles wobble but they won’t fall down.
*** /hype man ***
This is for Cory, the first poster who dissed me. This is all in fun and I'm not going to post any more rhymes, I was just surprised that the first rhyme was an all out attack on me!!...lol Its all love. Here goes:
Now cats had three days to prepare, dissing Critic isn't fair/
with rhymes more pathetic than bush or your moms that's on the welfare/
Wesley Snipes is what I'm black as, that's word to your wack ass/
Drop a dope 16, not fucked up rhymes dissing me you jackass/
I knew the rules even though I start more shit than laxatives/
If dudes dissed me to my face, simply watch me slap the kid with tragic wit/
I learned Kung Fu from a karate master named Mr.Woo/
He had me telekinetically lifting poo, colostomy bag wearing pussy-you got a lot of shit with you/
I'll juggle with your courage, tap dance on your self esteem/
Ask your girlfriend, my rhymes get your higher than crackfeins on trampolines/
So my sexual exploits are fake, something you can't believe?/
Lets do a blood test motherfucker, how do you think you were conceived?/
Yep your mother loved the Diatribe, why would I try to lie/
I almost got in trouble when I almost tried to fry a guy/
Some rappers desperately try to get it, that I flow harder than broken water spigots/
You can get the did-dick, rest in Peace to Wilson Pickett!!
Your title is "Rap Battle"! What was I supposed to do? :)
Of course it's in good fun. Poking fun and dissing is what battle rap is all about. Then you shake hands and laugh.
Your telekinetic poo reference rang of MF Doom. Had me thinking of that joint on Danger Doom where he describes Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
Dissin' ain't fair? Ain't nobody hatin' /
Rappers run away, like they left the oven bakin' /
My man Critic hosts a battle rap and gets mock offended /
I guess all my raps are just too artfully blended /
But his blog is on some real shit, he's painfully honest /
I keep waitin' for his ass to come outta the closet /
He was taught martial arts by as master named Wu /
He got that shit off a tape, enter 36, thought you knew /
My conception? It's a mystery, it boggles the mind /
equals parts wisdom and strength, adamantium spine /
A blood test is irrelevant, I run Valvoline man /
The thermal characteristics would burn off your hand /
So in summary Critic, big ups for having this rap shit /
Our battles will go down as Internet classics /
you can keep tha dilznick, you know where you can stick it /
Keep your flat feet on the ground, RIP Wilson Pickett! /
critic, i think cory has you on the ropes!
It is definitely all good Cory.. This is what Hip Hop's about..
I know where to "stick it"? Funny, that's what your mom said/
I found her in the want ads listed under the title of "Bomb Head"/
This battle shit is addictive, certainly tough to let go/
Rumor has it you frequent gay bars, that's why your asshole has an echo/
You talked about Valvoline, I'm sure you're an authority on lubricants/
Stupid bitch, you had a shower scene on "Oz" hoping the other guy would go through with it./
I wreck rappers careers like the D.O.C or Kanye West/
Similar to girls who get breast reduction let me get this off my chest/
"Mock offended"? Ask your girl, I'm "cock extended"/
That's why the kid she's having has a bad temper, a writing prowess, and hair that's dreaded/
I'm a "blast from the past" like gas outta your Grand mama's ass/
That why I had to break you down, like dissecting a fucking frog in biology class/
Coming out the closet? You really should get a better style/
I hope my readers understand when you scream "Keep in touch!", you say it because your a pedophile/
You tried to bite my style, brother Cory, not everything is edible/
Is it OK if I change your name, "Cory: The rapping sperm receptacle"?
YOOOOOOOOOOOO. HC, you are killing it!! "Blast from the past"..grandmama's ass?? LOL You're dope.
Cory's dope, but I have to echo the past commentors. Look at those metaphors!!! HC didn't really have to respond a second time to be totally honest.(I know its all hip hop)
I got to go to work tonight so I'll drop mine now.
with poisonous flow/
and lethal forms of alchemy/
it's radiation niggas/
spittin from the fuckin balcony/
look out for me/
I'm spreadin like west nile virus/
circle around the globe/
back down to your Iris/
simple but violent/
the next level of hybrid/
it's lyrical acid/
meant to melt your bastards/
mastered in the temple/
where niggas pray for answers/
but its acid/
so your prayers will be met cancer/
scared to death/
so “many men” wet they pampers/
phantoms/
green w/ envy like the ma'fukin lantern/
drowned underwater like you life never happened/
or East Savanah/
I'm bringing acid to ya campus/
burn through flesh/
like parkisans ate Cassius/
from dust to ashes/
oracle flow bottled in plastic/
read the skull and bone tag/
KG spits acid……
Ok, you got that off your chest and I'm gonna keep steppin to ya' /
I got your new name: Critic Little Dick Tha Droola /
Like butchers it seems we've got beef to settle /
I should get a new syle: Hello pot, I'm kettle! /
Cock Extended? It don't count when it's popsicle sticks and tape /
Needed an extension to FIND your penis due to excessive gut weight /
That's right. don't get it twisted, your disses all resisted /
Like gas prices lately, my style gets you lifted /
Break me down? I transform just like just like Optimus Prime /
Like AND1 mixtapes my rap gets oos & aahs all the time/
While you hold up the rap bench, waitin for you chance to play /
Watchin me run the floor like I was Doc J /
Don't even play with these people! your style is decevin' /
Change your name to GZA, cuz jizz is all you receivein' /
I think you best move on, find a new place to rhyme /
it's like tryin' to teach Bush math, just a waste of my time /
I just wanted to make sure noone missed that Critic Little Dick Tha Droola was supposed to sound like Slick Rick Tha Rula. ;)
This is a blast Critic! I don't have the metaphor game that you do, but I'm giving it a shot.
The best I've ever heard was on some video mixtape a few months back, something about: I got no time for you! Like a pediatrician, I have little patients. That was a tight line.
I'm a leave it to you 'cos we know what you do and you do it with such ease,
Me, I'm just another whose "word to ya mutha" comes out "May I speak to the female head of household, please?"
I'm a white woman from Connecticut and I know my limitations,
I respect the art but I gotta part without participation.
Peach. I mean, Peace.
Hey, Slick rick was the man.. and, why the hatred towards little penis'? Don't discriminate dude, it's so not you.. lol
But yeah, that is a tight line. You gotta love Hip Hop, peace Cory..
He was definitely the man, I just wanted to make sure that name got associated properly.
Yeah, I should get back to work. Peace.
(You should start doing this every Friday.)
invading continents like African Moors/
got the ladies screaming , "we want more" /
Chillin' like Muhammed on an Award Tour/
but if you want to battle come and get yours.../
sending mad love to Humanity/
we call him the Critic, the H to da C/
together we rock like the Justice League/
we some super EMCEES/
Rocking styles that are free/
old school heads that still say, "yo, that's dope, be.."/
where's the vinyl and f--k the CDs/
rolling with my sons watching Willie Wonka/
running over the competition like trucks from Tonka/
Zulu like Afrika Bambaata/
revolutionary like Assata/
rough and rugged like Chewbacca/
bring and your guns and your grenades and this god will still stomp ya...
Wow, check out all these rappers with their big worded metaphors\
taken shots at each other's momma while I spunk in the better whores\
Stealing verse,getting terse, like anna nicole smith without pills\
See there's this, Word is, The Oz scene gave-them-both sexy chills.\
Now I'm not one to step on a mack daddy's toes\
and I'm sure the HC would love to take a chop at my throat\
anything to stop the truth before it get to the news\
Dan Rather gave them big red and they spit juicy fruit/
So keep slammin on each other hell take a slam at me/
My rhymes are natures honey so just follow the bees/
Pick up the scent and spread the word like I did your Queen/
I dropped these words in less time than you picked up the clap/
While the short bus stops to let
you on, your helmet's in back/
I'm like Fred Astaire dancing through the cross walk in rain/
I won't be back to rhyme ain't got the time, Me tarzan you Jane/
I thoroughly enjoyed that. You need to do this again sometime.
And, yes, I'm still a punk. I don't have any skills, so I'm not even going to try. ;)
Wack emcees I can’t feel your desire/
Your lyrical ability I cannot admire/
You rap like T.I and Lil Jon/
Using those lines this battle will be long gone/
You Gangstarr, you dared to step into the arena/
Son, give me a contest/
Show me some lyrical wit and verbal delivery/
Me? I take the skills of yesteryear/
I rip into you reminding you of Biggie, KRS, and Nasir/
I’m evoking Ali, “THE CHAMP IS HERE”/
Killing you like I’m Kobe, the eternal Laker/
Crown me NOW as I’m take you back to your maker/
Knocked out or was it a first round dive?/
Doesn’t matter, doctor says you no longer alive/
You were wiped out, now a fighter with no memory/
Like the Holocaust, a flashpoint in history/
Cory you killing Humanity Critic!
But Critic don't throw in the towel yo, hit back harder!
I didn't even see your last rhyme.. Here goes..
"Dick Droola?" It's good to see Vanilla Ice's rhyme book is being put to use/
I'm giving verbal vasectomy's, guaranteeing the world that a wack bastard like you can't reproduce/
"Beef" and "Butchers", your metaphors are so last century/
Your rhymes weren't meant to be, like a theatrical performance of "rent" to me/
You're risking it with this rhymer, with cataract flows that will blind ya/
You suck so much dick you could impregnate girls by spitting in their vagina/
Your flows are so non masculine, with just the subtle hint of saccarhin/
I asked you boyfriend bastard men, and they said that you could deep-throat a javelin/
You simply lack the complexity, like a retarded kid on ecstasy/
It doesn't take a genius to understand that I stop flows like hysterectomy's/
Like a blind man getting a hand-job, you beating me I don't see it/
The scene of the battle you would flee kid because you can't stand it like paraplegics/
My disses are resisted? Motherfucker they get explicit/
You try to play tough guy, trying to hide the fact that your limp wristed/
Like ex-lax I'll run through y'all, Cory is trying to fool y'all/
Having a hard time tucking the cock back, from now on let's call you Ru Paul/
(In my best New York Voice) HUMANITYCRITIC IS HOLDING IT DOWN SON!! Sorry, but anyone that says otherwise is either just trying to motivate HC, or they just can't fucking read. Look at the shit he dropped!! Ridiculous..
Damn, so many good rhymes here;
alright, I'm going to "keystyle" a little and have a little fun, probably be wack man...
haha
Man,
look at y'all emcees braggin' and cursin'/
prolly spent fifteen hours rehearsin'/
I keep it real, let my mind go crusin'/
Like Stevie, I'm all "What the Fuss"in'/
Don't use no dictionary Pictionary stationary/
just here on my Sony, doin' it visionary/
type words faster than you can say vocabulary/
not ordinary, like Common I'm revolutionary/
You've heard Jin, the Asian emcee I'm sure/
I'm from the same place, along the same shore/
I'm no Kungfu master, I don't pretend to be/
but from RZA to GZA, I do it effortlessly/
lyrically, I'm comparible to Talib Kweli/
I'm all business, my mind's like Jay-Z/
Soulquarian like Poyser when I get on my keys/
in time like ?uest when i kick the beat/
so please, there aint no comparing you to me/
There's the door/
why don't y'all just get up and leave/
peace/
haha, just a bit of fun...
The Critic seems to be obsessed with folks' sex organs /
Who's writing this shit? A medical student on Captain Morgan? /
All this med school procedure sounds totally wack to me /
Why don't you just quit and study a copy of Gray's anatomy? /
Saccharin I don't spit, but I see how you confused /
and advanced form of sweetness is definitely used /
it's a marvelous concoction with myriad uses /
that subtle flavor you detect is your girl's pussy juices /
I got complexity on tap like bartenders and beer /
I can telekinetically melt your brain when you try to come near /
time to update your watch, consult a clock /
cuz you seem to be spendin' a lot of time on my jock /
we've been goin two days and we just getting started /
Critic's raps got an aura: smells like someone done farted /
the casket is ready, why still tryin to spit? /
you're ex-lax is right: a buncha damn shit /
I'm a rhyme fighter because basically I rhyme tighter/
I thought I was battling a real MC, not Lil John's ghost writer/
Verbally do you, erase your art like tattoo removal/
Your lyrics are so bullshit, Freedom Williams would shake his head in disapproval/
My lyrics flame on so kids like you can stay warm/
With those stretch marks around your lips, your a stunt man in gay porn/
My rap thesis is funkier than Aretha Franklin's bowel releases/
I'll bless you like sneezes from Jesus, your rhymes can't move me with telekinesis
So same, you flow lame, grow hair on your chest like Rogain/
Flammable like propane, I just rocked your stupid as like cooked cocaine/
When I'm bored, I go out and make atheists praise the lord/
See, me and rap go back like ass-cracks and spinal chords/
I'm dissin' men about to blow up your spot like nitroglycerin/
Your wasting my time like cheap watches, are you listening?/
I had to break up with a constipated ex girlfriend, like you she wasn't about shit/
Cory will get the short end of the stick like midget X-rated flicks/
Oh no! Critic's slippin! That last rap was his wackest /
I'm goin in for the kill like a terrorist attackist /
Keepin' me warm ain't required but I appreciate your attempts /
Your size and the hot air you blow are comparable to blimps /
Gay porn is a subject you seem to be schooled in /
Associatin yourself with ass cracks is rather enlightenin' /
My rhymes are valued highly, all gettin' their due /
Get traded on NASDAQ, check the symbol: FUKU /
Your fecal obsession really makes me a bit worried /
Put on your suit, say your prayers, the critic's getting buried /
I blow spots like RDX, take some time to research it /
Contenders families grievin' cuz their kids all got murdered /
I've already called out your watch, it's tickin' your doom /
critical mass being reached, prepare for the boom /
Can the Critic keep up, be all he can be? /
I guess like ol' Freedom, we'll have to see and see /
I'm giving Vietnam Flashbacks of infantry Blast-backs/
Your coroner will giggle, saying, "Look all the stuff we found in he depths of Cory's ass-crack!"
Practicing Brain surgery as you type Internet rhymes nervously/
Your the first jackass I know that would drop the soap purposely/
I'm bomb throwing at your non knowing, thong showing, song flowing/
A friend told me, "Cory's a pussy!" I said, "Be fair, the investigation is on-going"
Get this shit right bro, this I know/
Cory is the master of a bitch-like-flow/
You'd need an army to harm me, I'll fold you up like origami/
I massacre your physical form, your mother won't recognize the body/
Since my birth-date, my rhymes get you higher than the national birth rate/
I'll take your punk ass out like we were chilling on our first date/
But there won't be no kisses, bitch you can forget it/
Fecal Fetish Cory sifting through toilets, I told you he was on some next shit/
What do you owe somebody money, desperate for some cash/
Like I told the gingerbread man with a gambling problem, "You bet your sweet ass!"
Cory, honey, you're embarrassing yourself now. I'm saying.
Damn Critic I think he's had enough. It's starting to look like your bullying him now.
Again with the ass! Your rhymes are so Fruedian /
But like tackles on Steve Smith after receptions, I'm avoidin' em /
Here's 49 cents to add to your style, we know how you do it /
Now change your name to Fif-tay and start up the Gay Unit /
I need an army to harm you, how bout the Salvation? /
All the while people nod to my rhyme stimulation /
I do owe a few bucks on a bet that I took /
The one I lost when I thought the Critic wouldn't be so easily shook /
But like Bush despite shit-for-brains you go onto a second term /
Struggling to maintain your facade from my 3rd degree word burns /
when my lyrical shots rang noone saw where the Critic went /
but like old folks and florida, I guess I'll wait for his retirement /
Massacre my physical form? I'd like to see you try it /
Maybe you should write a book on nutrition and become MC Diet /
Everything Little Thing I Do is fire! Come on, you know the deal /
You better step back before we start calling you Soul For Real /
I'm having a blast despite Critic blazing me with metaphors. I'll stick around until he gets bored. :)
You can constantly regurgitate what I talk about, another lame trick/
Pointing out my lyrics are a deversionary tactic because your getting your fucking ass kicked./
This ass-crack is talking about NASDAQ. Bitch I'm your lyrical stock broker/
Don't compare yourself to me. I blaze trees, your simply a cock smoker/
The rhymes you copy are sloppy and the epitome of monotony/
Necrophiliac fuck. You give a new meaning to, "Over my dead body!"
No one is "slipping", that's a wall of excuses your building/
Be real then, your sending more mixed messages than speeches by interracial children/
I broke you like bankruptcy, I bench pressed your rhymes easily like power lifters/
High yet? Because I've exposed more dope lines to you than coke sniffers/
I know I can be brutal, my metaphors are primed for the hunt/
Like how I tell a friend who has sex with fat girls, "You can fuck around if you want!"
Let me be clear, as my rhymes warm you up like fleece wear/
Your irrelevant. I'm like a cop waiving you along, "Sir, there's nothing to see here!"
My rhyme style's condensed with lyrical flow and rapping sense/
I was rapping when you were unintentionally practicing abstinence/
But then again that was probably recently, your too unskilled to test/
I incarcerate your heart, put your bitch ass under cardiac arrest/
Its all good Cory. It's all hip hop.
Don't point out Critic's wack lyrics, he's to weak for that push /
Can't handle second guessin', like his man dubya bush /
Point out the chinks in his armor and he's quick to get snitty /
Under the false impression that his little jabs are witty /
No one is slippin', my bad, I'll take your word for it /
Your retorts are shitty, they belong in a toilet /
You can't disguise my talent by making distractions /
My words break the staying, they are more powerful than your greatest actions /
Like it was tied with wack knots, your lyrics can't hang /
It's a crime, the contusions and bruises that my style brang /
Put out an APB man or call up the ACLU /
cuz I'm violating your damn rights with my lyrical brew /
It's insane the octane of my lyrical fuel /
Despite the odds I challenged Critic to an Internet duel /
So talk gay or preach anatomy and say I'm silly for seein' though it /
Cuz I can spit rhymes and craft verses for as long as you can do it /
My rhymes get even harder like having erectile surgery/
I heard your pathetic 911 tape, "Help, HumanityCritic's trying to murder me!!"
Cory, This is a match of wits and simply put, it's easy to disarm ya/
Have your bitch ass strung out. On the corner giving up your body like suicide bombers/
I'll bring the pain and the thunder near, you should be a cartoon character named "Blunder Bear"
With your shit stained underwear, your totally going under here/
But I love rivals, seeing you tap dance around this battle like dance recitals/
But if I was you I'd watch what I say like your dumb ass was watching subtitles/
While I hold my own like masterbation and hold shit down like sexual predators/
I've sifted through your wackness, matter of fact bitch, you need a fucking editor/
Somone to give you tough love, tell you that publiclly your taking a beating/
It's rather defeating, like finding out you have cancer from the ozone depleting/
I'm a violence aplogist, who has done more dirt that an archeologist/
I swat your shit, like a fly swatter hit, you really want to follow this?
I mention the gay porn because obvious that's your shit/
Your the one trying to peddle you bootleg buttfuck tapes, in a club you own called "The cockpit"
If this was a real cypher I'd've been drowned out by now, so I'll quit rather than repeatedly read comments against me. Was fun! You should do this weekly!
Oh, and I thought my "see and see" on Freedom was the shit.
Ok dammit I’m late
been working on baby’s rooms
I’m tireder than a mutha…
And I’m high off paint fumes
Its like 2 in the morning
gotta be up at 530
I’m hungry I’m tired
I’m smelly
I’m dirty
Not worthy to kick the ballistics with all you mystics
if rapping was Motown
they’d make me one of the Simplistics
or synthetics
no energetic flow need callistetics
my kinetic energy’s weak
blood sugar low like diabetics
that pathetic!
like this weak rhyme
with which I struggle
these other raps cats Harry Potter I’m juss a lowly muggle
on the humble
I stumble and bumble never assert
I’m bored here's the Ja-fakin
'my yout BLOUSE AND SKIRT!’
thats sorta what happens
when Jdid jumped in the mix
Me see unna stop an stare
an pose off like double six
Bad boy, shotta and hot gal
just look at me like what a gwan
Kobe scored 81 points tonight
and I cant even make one
what was my motivation again? yo big up to you dudes with real skills, respect!
turn this into the weekend rap battle! it was fun as hell reading but would be better if some ppl with commentary turned into contributors.
That was sooooo marvelous maan. yeah HC you gotta keep the battles going. You and Cory held it down. HAHAHAHA
amputated phonetics
cut off the mic i'll spit with prosthetics
why spit for the critics
i'm ill, i'd rather spit for the medics
yall sick when i said it
eyes all bloody pink when u read it
salted my lines and bit it
i regret that i fed it
the glow is cosmetic
my bones and dental row are kemetic
the flow is prophetic
now sail the seven seas that i've wetted
the beef that i deaded
is packaged with a price get a beverage
a fork and a knife
now eat or simply go where u're headed
to gross what i've netted
u'd have to fly the places i've jetted
sit still and be challenged
or step up to my grill and get shredded
a ginsu fetish
i yellow bus the dumb like i'm Bettis
clouding your mind i drizzle
while u reach for umbrellas
the hardest core of all
draped in a shell for asthetics
a ghost when i shed it
a dead emcee scrolling out letters...
wud evrybody just shut up,
il cum swinging at ya so ya beta run and go suck.
wud evrybody remember tha days,
and splick your shit 2-pac ways.
i look uo to bob marley,
hes as good as your gal sucking me in my ferrari.
i was rich as hell,
until sum guy fukd me up and den i fell.
I come from england yo,
and that is right,, ya mums a fucking ho.
You dont want to touch me, il fuk u rite bak to the 9th block,
and der u can go get some cock.
you can talk through your voice but dont bet u wil be atacked by ur voice.
Daz-Xo1
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