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Jamal ZacaRooof
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IP:
I’m modest but honest/ abolish your knowledge/ demolish your topics/
Scorching your optics/ While you’re concocting more garbage/ you thinking of dropping/ But I’m stopping you up. Like constipation, with this BOLD asertation, I’m staging your devastation/ insuring your destination/ you facing utter humiliation/ you know I leave anus’es blazing/ f*cking with me? I got a fix for your little anal fixation.
Your time has ended/ your manhood on the line can u defend it? Against this infinite/ lyricist with the gift of hot spits which torch sh*t whenever he’s contented/ to leave you indented and slanted I’m implementing/ the ending of the tale of the little engine, that could’a, would’a, and should’a but never I drop heavy/ heads off with the machette/ I toss your inards like confetti/ you’re not ready.
Or able/ with them fantasy fables, what are you Flaming? Claiming you on rb to battle when really you looking for gay men/ E DUBZ I’m speaking in laimen terms, EVEN with/ your moniker switch/
You still a minor glitch/ in the system, easily traced, touched, erased and replaced sh*t, peep the manuscript/
E DUBZ, ya might not like this playa/ But the odds of you seeing me is like watching SCRAP rip TIME with ALL the votes in his favor/ Savor this moment neighbor/ These liquid razors/
I’m spitting is surely grating/ your flesh you already know how precise I slay a hater/ like a surgeons laser. You composed your composition/ Chock-full of contradictions/ I hardly see you as opposition/
Now you’re wishing you never composed a sentence/ I’m sh*tiing.
Ya non-sense/ spit from from your inner conscience/ reminding/ me of a miller lite, ALL filler, no content/I’m just launching. A constant barrage of key styled ish so my presense is felt/ I son you E DUBZ, don’t make take off my belt/ and leave welts.
Abrasions, bruises, bumps and marks/ I’m Ecklipse for a reason, ask ya girl about the art/ I commit on her “ass” after dark.
I hope your satisfied with the results of round 2's lil rendevous/ I burned you to ashes and blow em’ around the board, there’s no need for a round three.
But hey when it rains it pours/ Your screams are in vain and ignored after the sores ya score/ from the metaphors of the warlord of the board.
iight votes people
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