•bottle of pills•
 

the truth is that everything that's not a dream is useless/
to me, mixing feelings bringing abusive sprees to public ease/
hating the rhyme state stating that a rapper is the thing to be/
making the normally normal supporting abnormal again, "oh no he's gotten outta bed"/
no need to get formal, but let me outta my pen/
creating my world out of bits of yours is my chore, don't fight it/
it makes me more cold to the core, so learn this, your life ain't how you type it/
i wanna OD on prozac and valium then maybe i wouldn't rap like this/
i wouldn't act like shit in public, pass the pills and water, let's get off the subject/
never again to speak of it, make life a $4.20 an hour job and not love it/
whoever beefs can take their shit and shove it back to its origin/
so tank'em, go find some foreign men and yank'em sore again/
and again till you can't handle it/
then come see me for a platinum fist/
bitch, shut up, you can go ahead and babble shit, eat rhymes? you're ass is still anorexic/

with a bottle of pills i'm on the highest level with bottom skills/
droppin' ill like stoppin' jack from fucking jill/
plausible still? the steel killin' from the mic's iron grill/
the stage my cage, "Do Not Touch", i don't bite but i will/

i'm the professor, a mad agressor with less shit accepted under this pressure/
writing "dear sally letters" with "fuck you slut" as the header/
heading headless killing rappers who knew better/
not to try and out flow this skull with as many bones that i tote/
or up show my boat in as much spit that i've spoke/
or provoke my soul to actually busting the yoke.../
of my eggheadedness, but i know i'ma be regrettin' this.../
fuck you illrhymephonetic, fuck you tank'em, fuck you whitepac, don't edit shit/
but to my hate, i gotta give it to sleepers, they credit this/
and to the ill, my true family, L.L.I. the rhyme edifice/

with a bottle of pills i'm on the highest level with bottom skills/
droppin' ill like stoppin' jack from fucking jill/
plausible still? the steel killin' from the mic's iron grill/
the stage my cage, "Do Not Touch", i don't bite but i will/(echos into silent popping of the 12")


this better not touch the 2nd page

peace


signed,
~professor

i'm the professor, a mad agressor with less shit accepted under this pressure/
writing "dear sally letters" with "fuck you slut" as the header/

god i hate that sally jesse rapheal bitch^^ good lines, came off like a battle verse and a pretty tight one at that. some really solid punches and imagery.

keep posting.

Yo i felt this joint right here.

nice shyt my homie keep em commin some nice shyt goin fa ya
~1~

havn't seen him in awhile

ever since he posted somethin' bout me

this shit was tight

i like how you use your words

~1~

yo man that was ill but not as nice as myne take a look....
yo i flow make you go//
uh oh, fa sho ya kno//
d-luxx kill all you fucks//
dirty mucks and all u pre-fux//


ILL MAN ILLEST IVE DONE

that was ill dawg, give me your home address so i can forget my tour and sign you onto my label!

yo man im at 110 23 washington drive holla man

HOT LIL SOMETHING NO DOUBT I LIKED THIS PEACE

upping for the eyes of the wack few

yo tis piece was ill liked all tha lines keep it up

first rapper on the moon

...


UP YOU GO BITCH!