santas stuck in a chimney lookin grimey
yur slap stuck yur hand onma face sreamin leame
yur diss piece like a sermon from jerk franklin
oar yur afaggish penis with scripty acts seen thru briitled screens

--like hell was full-this mate decided to walk on earth--

i'm know i'm Sure-ya-playin/ i'll rob Godz-people like Kirk-franklin/ come at me wit that Faggish-shit/ Bad-back-that'z-sick/ Yo-ass-can't-spit, Chimney-n-grimey, Quit-wit-tha-Rhyming, stop when yo Ass-can-spit, and don't come at me wit them Whack-ass-writz...

oh was that a lesson //
lines dissipated from yur fukin head-beggin bread- on water
whats better is butter instead--- dullard
tuck about wackness whut the fuk cul u know when yu blinded by it aint seen it ya cant see watz real yu culdnt be gory even if ya spilled yur brain on yur skill------//he culldnt understan ma rhymes
oh -not ma fault yu still readin abc lines
--like hell was full-this mate decided to walk on earth

why you Gettin-all-tense, you need some rhymez that'z Spittin-some-sense, Talk-about-whackness, i'mma walk-around-that-shit, Peep-the-skill, erase the fake and Seek-tha-real, Bad-mate-1, that'z whack-raps-that-fake-son, Debate-the, skill that Make-you-see-Rhymes, i got "S-K-I-L-L" cause i'm-ill, spell that out for ya A-B-C-LINES...

blindin niggaz culdnt cross readin "d" to zed"!
yu propably gat the abc from ma dissin bed....
ama rapidly rap u around with rapt rap-scalion
yu flo like 10 crapped rap lletrates
lyrics pass thru like a membrane that infiltrates....u wont last a round with a punchline so dont venture into it
yur rhymes are dead and they dont make headlines
if yu kept them ull be left with deadlines _ timed for an award 4 wack rymes.......

--like hell was full this mate decided to walk on earth--

harry's back meth need to try doing crack it might help your flow soon ass u step in the club u cath an elbow i carry a 9 mill u tloten an cross bow slasher don't make me become a gay basher harry the master call your mom hurry ask her who's ya daddy you slave looking like a golf caddy ya girl a fatty i pimp u to get a caddy/ wo harry gets duo /smoke dro /well u stik rats in your botty hole /bitch rapper meths a bicth rapper come were i'm at and meet a gun clapper

this dude bad mate is trash next time they past the mic just past find 5 lil boys to wip your ass working for task in da hood you'll never last /come wit some better shit are get pistol wip a 12 year old girl can get u pussy wip / bad mate meets his fate fucken wit harry i got more lines than bur berry /cath u on the web given head to terry /post it on black planet your girl thinks its so scarry / mybe cuzz she just kissed u that was not a fist that was a dick that hit you /mate sould have been killed in da tiwn towers i just murdered mate some one send flowers



i'm the best HARRY

Look at you dude, your style is shit.
I don't wanna be rude, but you make me sick!
Your worse than Mike Meyers, mobbin deep with no clique.
notta thing to perpertrate, your game is smellin fake, you try to front but you just desenigrate. I cant wait to see what the next MC trys to pull on me cause I'll make him look like a memory. Oh, schools out now, the next time I come I'ma finish tearin you down!

look cobra ya over fucken wit me u need jay z need god u need hova i bubble like soda u might need to come alittle bolder give me your pipe i'll give u a boulder u high now soulger i spit that volger becuzz my haerts colder tap this rock of my soulder and see if i wip your ass fuck u up put u in a body cass u want last rapping wit hodean make u a feen sone as i get u sipping da lean boy it most be hard to read this getting diss add u to my gay rapper list

how the fuck are you from minneapolis, cross over the border//
last time i only dared you to try an dissappear, now its an order//
fuck with this ill rhyme horder, runnin with an AK an a mortar//
youre bound to get blowed like poppin x an smokin a quarter//
talents already small, my tape recorder will make it shorter//
tellin me why im anonmous, in my business like a reporter//

no name gay MC trying Harry D i'm back and tell ya moms to pay me back for that crack look how bicths at when they read some real rhymez look how this buster ducks when i pop steel 9's i'll be bush you play saddam when you read my lines it's liked i droped a bomb /look anonopuss/ you a gril rapper turn your mic in to a dush/ i push/ weak rappers like u tell they shot up a shcool /fool u fuck wit da best get on some g shit and pop 1 in your cest/cool/youfeel up to the test/ grab your tool/ i'll chill and wait smoking da sess

this guy needs to shave, better off just to save//
those rhymes that you wrote couldn't boss around slaves
harry d, that's short for Dick
make it quick, suck it slick, hurry up harry trick
i read ya verse and i think it's worse//
fuck an ambulance call this dude up a hearse
pulled hi rhymes from some cracker jack, wack attack, hackey sack//
harry back, smack an crack, vocabulary is all that you lack
don't cry don't moan don't whine//
i'm all outta time you just all outta rhymes.

roux still puten on dirty socks wish he was me sell rocks getting cash yet he just keeps getting fucked in his ass fag u think u got flow get beat down like Bosten George in blow /218 post one win know u want to bost stop yapping bicth get back to booty clapping see u on Jenny Jones your moms like "i dont know what happen" homie your ryhmes lacken thats y u jacken raps and ya dick pops never showed u macking so u can't get a bicth blow up dolls is your life the back of a dogs ass is your wife look dude resptect my gangster roux the frist 100 man gay gang banger pussy

harry the fairy, lookin kinda scary,//
in that prom dress sippin on the sherry
this kid has no flow at all//
start the brawl, harry falls, caught him shoppin at the mall
like steak, your talent is "rare", not "well done,"
"medium" would be about fair
mr spock flip flops, white tube socks//
someone else's glock that he got down the block
like run dmc, you "talk too much"//
such and such beat you to the punch
teeth go "crunch" when bust a bunch
puke up ya lunch when i bust ya in the guts
verbal fist for ya half assed stunts, if it were football you'd hafta punt

Hairy Chodean
i ate this mothafucka last time but he aint taste right like baked-meat//
you tellin me you makin money sellin rocks where, on lake-street?//
if you could really make-cheese, by the time you startin pushin-crack//
you should be up an out the hood, never lookin-back//
i can tell when you write that youre straight bummy, its funny//
("tell your mom to pay me back for that crack")
if you have to get my 50 year old mom to do runs you aint makin money//
this verse of mine was simple, made to adress what you said harry//
i hope yours wasnt to show your vocabulary,its so-bad-its-scary//
you say youre slangin rocks, but on the conterary...
you smell like a pig to me you prolly run with the constabulary//
ill come an stab-him-where-he, took every blow i just ~excreted~//
youll get ~defeated-an-deleted~ if you ~compete-wit-the-elitest~//

Roux
at the end of my verse youll be leavin lookin well-done//
for a bitch to walk away with only 2nd degrees is seldom//
im simmiliar to a cannibal, baste this fool in oil//
boil him alive, put the meat in foil//
put that in a refrigerator burried under soil//
so when i come back the next week his body doesnt spoil//
im crazy, ill go to your mothers house chewin on your riblet//
prolly be commited an flow from assylum to court like i was liquid//

Anon