theman080
02-25-06, 01:03 AM
Dont give me props on my drops lil puzzy azz bytches
Don't need a response on my drops ya lil puzzy azz bytches
How many times I keep hot in my drops ya lil puzzy azz bytches
One more time I'll knock your fukkin brain cells loose
No more interrogative questions, fukk flexin wit a positive message
My essence is seizmic infestin in peasants and is widely effective
A wreckage is designed in a second, holmes if you even close to the level
Than you utterly gross, and if not than ya stuntin's a hoax
The fact is I don't drop subliminals, what herbs pop is minimal
When I'm hot it's criminal, rip your originals to minerals
When I drop it's literal, fukk figurative and metaphorical bashins
I mean I could offer it, but would these faggots get the rhetorical actions
Or jus brand it as a lashin, 080 in the zone of his orbital fashions
Out of this earth, ya worth? I've been vile since birth
I style wit words, the curves, enough to dead a mile of herbs
Certainly, you'll discover if ever you work me, wreckin is big
Blessin the gig, you think you better than you aint been checkin the sig
Ignore me muthafukkas, pretend it doesn't exist
No need to front on a bytch -- :ohmy: --
Cuz when it comes to flow, none I know is as gutter as this
I provide for the mind's eye a sparkling sensation
Lyrical skills, I bring light to the darkest temptations
I mark a formation till you cave-in, or ya target is wasted
The hardest is vacant, it's 080 son and I'm lethal wit kills
Hate to state the obvious, if you posted in here, you aint my equal in skills
I'm still the open mic king, puzzy, aint shyt changed
Just the annual post drops, and I broadened my range
I'll darken ya game, cuz you aint got the heart or the frame
To see me wit binoculars, I've sharpened my aim
Everyone gettin hit, duck or you deaded
Muthafukkas is shredded wit the flow I bust wit a fetish
I power the crop, a lot, son I devour and pop
I write in ten minutes what takes you an hour to drop
Fukk feedback, like I need that, I'm a veteran now
You seem stacked till I bleed that, ya head on tha ground
I don't need adive from no emcee, you step than go against me
Don't like a bytch, than pop shyt, suck on my dyck
Sorry get a lil elementary, but the flow can pardon me that
I'll change the trajectory, have you all hit wit flak
In reality this is a keystyle, believe it or not
I'll weed through yout lot till you see that I'm that hot
I'm Julius Ceasar, except I took the crown and I'm rulin wit ether
And Brutus is already dead, through words I'm pullin the heater
I'm foolin ya features, cuz in reality ya amatuer packed
My staminas wrath, attack with the parameter's maxed
I slam wit an axe, aint none alive appearin to beat me
Max wit flow, vocab, and wordplay, ah yes, a mysterious species
The next time I erect a victim, who's writtin best is bitten
I mean god forbid it, but bytches, let go the skeptism
I'm theman, flooring essence, you'll be sent to a gory endin
Take shots through text and death is the mandatory sentence
I shatter martyrs, weildin a bloody blade and cutom battle armor
I rattle harder, muthafukkas step to the battle's wreckin
While you replicate my actual essence, ya death will accentuate the dramatic lesson
Is 50 lines enough, to refine ya rust, a shot mines
I could lie in dust and coincide the crush, but fukk it, I got time
Coinsida this a gift to ya bitas, rip my spits hittin Midas
Goin fa gold, the new don, low and behold
Sewin ya skull wit scrolls, fa sho ya should fold
I'm ill wit a sinner's frame, thrill wit a bitter pace
Killin ya spittas brains, wit words brilliantly interlaced
Ya orientation is borderin basic, bring war to ya pavements
I maintain the dons best, my campaign is conquest
Dampen brains like god jest, ya log text, lil homie thats nonsense
I've been a better emcee, while lil bytches been bettin on sprees
I'm the beginning, middle and end, beleive there's no predacessor to me
Don't need a response on my drops ya lil puzzy azz bytches
How many times I keep hot in my drops ya lil puzzy azz bytches
One more time I'll knock your fukkin brain cells loose
No more interrogative questions, fukk flexin wit a positive message
My essence is seizmic infestin in peasants and is widely effective
A wreckage is designed in a second, holmes if you even close to the level
Than you utterly gross, and if not than ya stuntin's a hoax
The fact is I don't drop subliminals, what herbs pop is minimal
When I'm hot it's criminal, rip your originals to minerals
When I drop it's literal, fukk figurative and metaphorical bashins
I mean I could offer it, but would these faggots get the rhetorical actions
Or jus brand it as a lashin, 080 in the zone of his orbital fashions
Out of this earth, ya worth? I've been vile since birth
I style wit words, the curves, enough to dead a mile of herbs
Certainly, you'll discover if ever you work me, wreckin is big
Blessin the gig, you think you better than you aint been checkin the sig
Ignore me muthafukkas, pretend it doesn't exist
No need to front on a bytch -- :ohmy: --
Cuz when it comes to flow, none I know is as gutter as this
I provide for the mind's eye a sparkling sensation
Lyrical skills, I bring light to the darkest temptations
I mark a formation till you cave-in, or ya target is wasted
The hardest is vacant, it's 080 son and I'm lethal wit kills
Hate to state the obvious, if you posted in here, you aint my equal in skills
I'm still the open mic king, puzzy, aint shyt changed
Just the annual post drops, and I broadened my range
I'll darken ya game, cuz you aint got the heart or the frame
To see me wit binoculars, I've sharpened my aim
Everyone gettin hit, duck or you deaded
Muthafukkas is shredded wit the flow I bust wit a fetish
I power the crop, a lot, son I devour and pop
I write in ten minutes what takes you an hour to drop
Fukk feedback, like I need that, I'm a veteran now
You seem stacked till I bleed that, ya head on tha ground
I don't need adive from no emcee, you step than go against me
Don't like a bytch, than pop shyt, suck on my dyck
Sorry get a lil elementary, but the flow can pardon me that
I'll change the trajectory, have you all hit wit flak
In reality this is a keystyle, believe it or not
I'll weed through yout lot till you see that I'm that hot
I'm Julius Ceasar, except I took the crown and I'm rulin wit ether
And Brutus is already dead, through words I'm pullin the heater
I'm foolin ya features, cuz in reality ya amatuer packed
My staminas wrath, attack with the parameter's maxed
I slam wit an axe, aint none alive appearin to beat me
Max wit flow, vocab, and wordplay, ah yes, a mysterious species
The next time I erect a victim, who's writtin best is bitten
I mean god forbid it, but bytches, let go the skeptism
I'm theman, flooring essence, you'll be sent to a gory endin
Take shots through text and death is the mandatory sentence
I shatter martyrs, weildin a bloody blade and cutom battle armor
I rattle harder, muthafukkas step to the battle's wreckin
While you replicate my actual essence, ya death will accentuate the dramatic lesson
Is 50 lines enough, to refine ya rust, a shot mines
I could lie in dust and coincide the crush, but fukk it, I got time
Coinsida this a gift to ya bitas, rip my spits hittin Midas
Goin fa gold, the new don, low and behold
Sewin ya skull wit scrolls, fa sho ya should fold
I'm ill wit a sinner's frame, thrill wit a bitter pace
Killin ya spittas brains, wit words brilliantly interlaced
Ya orientation is borderin basic, bring war to ya pavements
I maintain the dons best, my campaign is conquest
Dampen brains like god jest, ya log text, lil homie thats nonsense
I've been a better emcee, while lil bytches been bettin on sprees
I'm the beginning, middle and end, beleive there's no predacessor to me