GET DRUNK AND HIGH AND WRITE SHIT ON A PAGE
And don't pay any mind if they say it's craz-
y, just blurt out that shit; you'll prove it's legit
like a newborn baby suckling yr pot-tits,
but if it's legit, that don't make it legal
whipping it out like an unlicenced Eagle
(no, not the bird, you nerd, I mean a gat)
as if you couldn't tell by the rat-a-tat-tat,
and the bullets, like mace, burning holes in yr face
just a second -- I need to call an ambulance to lace
up the body bag. Your blood is *ruining* my shag
but thems the breaks for you gankin' my skag,
so don't worry 'bout yr shorty, I treat bitches right
-- especially when they stitch they britches tight
and snug against the skin like they made o Spandex
gettin' hard like the horns of a nubian ibex,
so I puncture both you 'n yr shorty for fun,
the one with my dick, the other with my gun,
and when I pop one, the blood spots and cum drop
's wont stop this glock murderin' yr hip-hop,
'cause yr flow, like yr body, be soft & be weak
Mine's raw, so speak not, you lost a week
sitting stunned -- by my lyrical brilliance
while yr crew's in the alley gettin' raped by my minions,
that's right faggot, I've got an army to boot
and it's into sick sex, sticks teks up your poop chute
pull the trigger, impale, exploding yr brain
'n I'm saying that's the moment when everyone came
all over yr corpse, 'n up in yr guts
Dry freeze your ass like we're Jabba the Hutt
Yes, step to us and get your wig pushed back
[Ending 1:]
'n pulled out yr home like you's in Iraq,
so we'll cut off yr dick 'n leave yr body in the street
For the pigs and the pagans, like non-Halal meat
Rhymes like Abu Ghraib, putting chumps in heaps
of skin and bones, pulling up in Jeeps
with hos and sneaks: Hello, pleased to meet
Ain't let me sleep since I hit it last week
Balls up my sleeve, call me "Crypto-Orchid"
Lying on the bed like a tongue that's forkèd
commenced to pork it like every night
But I got needs; like, one bitch? That ain't right
S'all good for you fags, but the Umu has plans
Suck up and down a long list of mans
suntans, black, white, red, yellow, cut, uncut
Get in to win, yo: get in my butt.
[Ending 2:]
taste slaps 'n' blats from our gats, you sad sack
o' wackness. Best reload & rewrite your rhymes
Not even cobras would bite your rhymes
Ring up your mans, maybe ask for some tips
Slipstreams in time, parallel, don't trip
I run the waters together, the river flows out to meet
Emergent rhythms crystallize from the beat
We don't write hits, we write Number Stations
Punch your face in, you're still in elation
'cause you suck, you know it; your lines are dry
while our towers of pop-tops reach up to the sky.
And don't pay any mind if they say it's craz-
y, just blurt out that shit; you'll prove it's legit
like a newborn baby suckling yr pot-tits,
but if it's legit, that don't make it legal
whipping it out like an unlicenced Eagle
(no, not the bird, you nerd, I mean a gat)
as if you couldn't tell by the rat-a-tat-tat,
and the bullets, like mace, burning holes in yr face
just a second -- I need to call an ambulance to lace
up the body bag. Your blood is *ruining* my shag
but thems the breaks for you gankin' my skag,
so don't worry 'bout yr shorty, I treat bitches right
-- especially when they stitch they britches tight
and snug against the skin like they made o Spandex
gettin' hard like the horns of a nubian ibex,
so I puncture both you 'n yr shorty for fun,
the one with my dick, the other with my gun,
and when I pop one, the blood spots and cum drop
's wont stop this glock murderin' yr hip-hop,
'cause yr flow, like yr body, be soft & be weak
Mine's raw, so speak not, you lost a week
sitting stunned -- by my lyrical brilliance
while yr crew's in the alley gettin' raped by my minions,
that's right faggot, I've got an army to boot
and it's into sick sex, sticks teks up your poop chute
pull the trigger, impale, exploding yr brain
'n I'm saying that's the moment when everyone came
all over yr corpse, 'n up in yr guts
Dry freeze your ass like we're Jabba the Hutt
Yes, step to us and get your wig pushed back
[Ending 1:]
'n pulled out yr home like you's in Iraq,
so we'll cut off yr dick 'n leave yr body in the street
For the pigs and the pagans, like non-Halal meat
Rhymes like Abu Ghraib, putting chumps in heaps
of skin and bones, pulling up in Jeeps
with hos and sneaks: Hello, pleased to meet
Ain't let me sleep since I hit it last week
Balls up my sleeve, call me "Crypto-Orchid"
Lying on the bed like a tongue that's forkèd
commenced to pork it like every night
But I got needs; like, one bitch? That ain't right
S'all good for you fags, but the Umu has plans
Suck up and down a long list of mans
suntans, black, white, red, yellow, cut, uncut
Get in to win, yo: get in my butt.
[Ending 2:]
taste slaps 'n' blats from our gats, you sad sack
o' wackness. Best reload & rewrite your rhymes
Not even cobras would bite your rhymes
Ring up your mans, maybe ask for some tips
Slipstreams in time, parallel, don't trip
I run the waters together, the river flows out to meet
Emergent rhythms crystallize from the beat
We don't write hits, we write Number Stations
Punch your face in, you're still in elation
'cause you suck, you know it; your lines are dry
while our towers of pop-tops reach up to the sky.
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