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