Phenom | Kingz | Dabatos | TonySelf | Tha Q | Half Breed | Tito | 7th End | RV Radio |
06-11-04, 01:10 AM | #1 | ||
Banned: Biting
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To all the fake bitches...
IP:
Yo, you can't cope with the heat, no hopes to compete
Thinkin' you dope, but you weak with that wack flow that you speak Wrap a rope around ya throat and choke you til you can't breathe You a joke, I'm serious, you need experience in this rap scene So what does that mean? (Uh) You rep a wack team. I crack G's when the gats squeeze Blow your brains on ya back seat, Now that's beef I fight a foe with a microphone, and at last we meet So fuck a rap and a beat, don't you see, I gotta gun The police chose not to run, So I'll shoot cops for fun I'm the toxic one, I bring death Straight to ya motha fuckin' room, soon as I wring ya neck You aint seen me yet, I'll be there sharp on the dot In the parkin' lot, ready to fuckin' spark the pot Dark or not, Daylight, I say and paint tight art off the top bitch, you won't break me, My styles hard as a rock I'll be in your yard with a glock, ready to shoot The techniques is steady with proof that we the deadliest group Pain is only weakness when leaving the body And you could die from a flesh wound recieved from the shotty So I guess pain is just truly, more than it seems I deal it, to make you feel it, we even war in your dreams i'm eroding the soil, that gotcha probing for oil you struck dirt, ya lucks worth-less and tha globes-in-turmoil it's utter chaos, "ok boss - i'll drill through his knees" ain't no tellin' when elevation should fil-ter his frees cuz i bring subjects that matter and as a matter of fact i got talent and sense and you sense the latter's intact the ladder is cracked, and y'all fallin' offa the rungs carbon copy, tryin' to stop me's like sayin Hoffa was Hung i throw more changeups than Randy, deranged is what my clan be it's pathetic when my text-gets explained to understand me i'm over your head, face it it's over - your dead lacin' the basic with basting and then the doberman's fed (WOAH) i'm turnin' clovers to red, it's-tha-midst-of genocide paintin' walls with faintly calls of those who wish they never tried i'm foldin' what's gold-and-untold-into the boldest of statements you phonies ain't get stoned unless i throw bolders to face bitch |
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