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Yo, first I sprinkle the verse |
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By addin' words, rhymes |
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Flippin 'em in a verse with lines |
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Then I'ma hit 'em with terse rhyme |
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Venom and then I'ma split 'em in half |
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Feelin' my wrath |
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Venturin' through parts of the South so dirty |
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You'll want to be given a bath |
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It's livin' a pathological lie to deny that I'm nice |
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And the truth hurts (ow) |
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Wearin' a blue shirt the best buy for the price |
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To get six guys this live and nice on the mic |
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So don't dis us because we're fly, |
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Until you try what it's like |
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I'm liable to slice at these emcee bastards |
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Leaving their knees fractured |
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Needin' every piece of their teeth re-crafted [Do it to 'em] |
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So don't front 'cause I see past it |
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You're harmless like Wolverine's adamantium claws |
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When they're retracted [ching*] |
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If the scene's backlit |
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Or seems static, we'll wreak havoc |
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We'll beat batter to keep rappin' |
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A leech battle, a dream shatterer |
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For three nanoseconds [damn] |
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Count your paces, one step to Tonedeff |
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You're Gone in Sixty Seconds like Nicholas Cage is |
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[Deacon] |
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I'll leave you riddled with basics |
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There's no need for complexity |
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To be beside myself I need God next to me |
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Just kiddin' |
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I'm partially bullshittin' |
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The only time I take a lost pussy's |
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When I lose kittens |
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I pitch shit past 'ya, no matter who's hittin |
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I don't capsize boats, |
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But I got crews flippin' |
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You catch it? The message needs analization |
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Step and your boys'll be pouring alcoholic libations |
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I flew sick, you knew this |
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I'll puzzle you, doofus |
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Fuck mentally |
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Stretch you into a physical Rubik's |
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It'll take more than sticker rearrangement to change it |
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His language is so strange, how do we contain it? |
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You can't just paint this up upon the canvas |
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Gotta get the mental picture |
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To begin to understand this |
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So anticipate defeat, delete chances |
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Got your heads speared on lances |
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Doin' burial dances [It's over] |
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[sankofa] |
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I'm givin' body language speech impediments |
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Each other threat causes confident cats to stutter-step |
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Gutter reputation down to a size |
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Too raw for porn overdubs, plate of leftovers |
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Eat some warmed-over thugs |
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A jaded wordsmith |
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Bleeding ghostwriters' pens dry |
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Get on other rappers' nerves |
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Corroding dendrites |
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When my thoughts connect |
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You ought to step away fast |
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It seems I gave cats "hey that's the way they make tracks" {?} |
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Forget a scare, I'm not generous, kid |
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Spit society of Nim and it didn't enlist {?} |
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Independently sick |
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And this is just a quick reminder |
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If you was to pick a cipher |
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Then I'll bus you quick to Rikers |
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All expenses paid, no questions asked |
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I'll get open in the cut and we can flesh your gash |
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Can't relax, man, the last time I took a breather |
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I got brought up on murder charges |
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Start the crooked fever |
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[Kno] |
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Hey yo, I'm not the fella to riff with |
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I'm so nice Mr. Rogers sued my ass |
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Roll with henchmen |
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That will switch heads |
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From wanna be thugs to 24/7 bitch kids |
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Topping my shitlist |
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Producting cat bastards wantin' jiggy beats |
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For some wack rappers |
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Switch my style? Who you tryin'a play? |
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My beats'll maraud yo' ass any time of day |
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Like Deuce Bigalow's chick |
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Whenever you do shit |
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People see you and holler "That's one huge bitch!" |
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Shit, when the LP rolls out |
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The Source'll be forced to make the quotables |
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A three-page fold-out |
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No doubt, I'm fed up with this wack shit |
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Bombin' the next kid wearin' Abercrombie and Fitch |
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And any jiggy rapper actin' fly on the radio's |
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Gettin' pulled out of rotation like a Firestone radial |
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[Kashal Tee] |
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Kashal Tee, the hip hop scene, I phat-in |
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Not even my winner's belt keeps my jeans from saggin' |
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It seems I'm raggin, |
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But fiends been naggin' for my next release |
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I apply all my expertise and make 'em extra pleased |
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Even get the breaks to peace that makin' a brother feel this {?} |
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All I do is independent, like double helix |
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Sellin' out? Well I hope that you're not |
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But how else could you afford all the soap that you drop? |
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You can't fuck wit me, yo, kid, look |
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Takin' me out ain't no small feat, you ain't Bigfoot |
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You should know who the heck you're facin' |
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'cause my reputation leaves no room for speculation |
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Now battle, is that you want to do? |
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What kind of man are you? |
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I bet you sit on the urinal too |
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Now that it's proven to you |
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They got a lot to tell us |
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Them got your heart skippin' beats like acapellas |
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[Celph-titled] |
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I be a mythic author |
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Writing poems on tombstones |
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Celph-Titled and nigga, you couldn't bring home [Who's that?] |
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I'm at the crib wit your bitch givin' me slow head |
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Split you up in more pieces than when Jesus broke bread |
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My clique is raw, be prepared when you meet us |
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Kill an unborn baby and you still couldn't de-fetus (ooh) |
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I don't battle with rhymes, |
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I'd rather battle with nines |
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Instead of using my mind |
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I'd rather shatter your spine |
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The closest you ever came to a punch line, |
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Was waitin' for refreshments at the prom in '89 |
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I'm super crafty, super nasty, super raspy |
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Fuckin' bitches with super asscheeks |
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You fucking faggots don't know what raw speech is |
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I beat a bitch until her whole body turn to cleavage |
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I'm hyperactive so I drink decaffinated |
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My left jab is fatal, leavin' cats decapitated |
