Punchline cypher
Drop some dope punches
|
he speaks....
I'mma push my advance up and over the budget
If rap dont work, I'mma punch my A&R in his chest till his shoulders touchen I came up, I don't deal with lame fucks I'll just "beat you flat out" like hitting topless A-cups I'm tired of mc's and they crappy disc's I'll punch death in the face, and walk around the hood with ashy fists you're a verbal virgin, a metaphor misfit always "ducking heads" like red light districts catch a round to the get, I clown you fuccs it's like you giving oral to leprachauns, "going down on yah luck" |
I'll spit a rhyme and make a nigga testify
ur established gayness has just been rectified... |
he speaks....
perfected the rhymes, most feel vunerable, neglected and decline,
his punches are so forced, he needs an operator to connect his lines |
"he speaks" but his freestyle lacks any attention
he aint a knight he's more like an accidental invention... |
I spit ice shit just to see if you burning like a herb
U just spit shit cuz words was too hard for your learning curb/ Maybe if you was clever...you wouldn't think snow was hot weather Now words decline just hearing the shit you've tried to put together |
he speaks....
not too concerned with the beef, but damn this herbies weak
my punches hit so close to home yah neighbor heard me speak -Alpo |
rhyming is an activity, fucc it called it charity
it'z rare u find anotha me, who seems 2 b such a rarity |
he speaks....
time will tell if you'll blow up or not
when I time travel to mammograms and "blow up spots" Alpo |
naaaw...he blows up not,
the only time he blows anything is givin men shots then feelin them spots he's real in them knots--lol |
Does anyone know why this kid even speaks//
His punches big as PeeWee, jus gay an weak// |
he speaks....
call me "complex" dog I'll beat you with rhymes
you like a phone tap the way you read inbetween my lines |
yo dogg stop rappin like yer sumthing
u be in tha bakk ally in my garbage rumeging... lookin fer yer skill that i tossed out tha window.... ayo i killed on this so bad yer bitch is now a widow |
Demostratin yall fags,ya weak,my punchlines like stones
While yall give more low blows unda da belt den Roy Jones |
Read you like a book, scan over ya contents, read the text as well
The pages crumble, the spine is worn, you ain't HALF the story you tell |
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