hip-hops the truth,it has to come straight-from-the-heart
not that fake shit,forced rhymes but still stay-on-the-charts
that shit gasses-me-up when ever they passen-me-up,maken-me-fart
you cant just pic up a mic and lie to the audience,you gotta blaze-from-the-start
no fibs and gossipin when your dropping-in lyrics and vocals
no hokes and jokes when you got the mic placed in a choke-hold
you gotta prove-yourself, show your contestants that you can move-the-crowd
only hot fire and flames oozen-out,no boo’s-allowed,spittin soothing-sounds
you cant fall down and fall off your topic on the spot,-in-a-flash
you gotta hold your weight tight,and place-strikes hot-and-fast
show everyone your skills,never freeze up and receive-chills,you gotta get emcess-killed
no questions asked,no answers involved,the only way ta solve fright,is ta get emcess-reeled
throw ‘em across-the-stage,toss em around,do not-be-afraid
only courage-is-aloud,diverse words, we’re serving-‘em-how?
We’re serving em straight-up,in doggy bags when we spray-up
I like ta see mainstream cats try and play-us,underground cats get em raised-up
like dicks after bottles of Viagra,watchen em stagger,tippin 'em over on the stage,-what?
Theres no room for wack battle-raps ta enter the room,read the scattered-facts
Everytime you see someone hop-on-the-stage,loose, and flop-on-their-face
You laugh and act like a snob-ta-their-face,like they worthless,and all they got-is-disgrace
And the worse-is, if there rap was merged-with written-matterial
An spittin flows thats bittin-like-cerial,an they still get smoked like spliffs-when-they-here-me-yo
When that occurs,you know theyre wackass amateurs,they couldnt flip shit as restaurant janitors
Im threw,I think you got-the-point,I sent it across in this clause of words,youll get it when you spot-this-joint,and follow up wit applause…

uppin....

gets 12 IQ points