This was a penstyle from the middle of class today. Say what you say...


You've listened for awhile and ask: who the fuck is Lyle?/
Am I new school or old? Tell stories or make cats fold?/
Rap poet-cool or drool spit about gats I get and ice I've sold?/
Should I bat some kids or sing love ballads?/
I'm either crack'n upside heads or macking into beds/
Will I cypher for life or get caught up in strife?/
Hmm, should I drop a whole album about killing my wife?/
So raw, I'm red; bite me and wind up dead. Ebola took holda this head!/
Yum, we're cooking beef, and not steak-tomatoes, this is fresh bled meat that burns under gas-fed heat/
I'll blow you away like the last dead wheat whisp—Feel this, bitches! Like a penis, twitchin!/
I'm heavy on the street, but still quick on my feet. I'm hated and bold like sodomy/
You're played and old like Rodney Peete. Will I stay gold or turn Master P?/
Uugghhh! Do you know me? Can you outflow thee? I rap battle while you prattle crap/
You speak standard while my spit splatters like your blood on walls, Red Spackle?? *Get Towels!*/
Anyways, my talk is just play—Verbal food you need to sustain/

So to answer that question now old, before I put you on hold.../
Before you got hit with this bragadocious tangent:/
Who's Lyle?/
Well, my style is variable/
And I'll never rep my area code/
Cuz the fuckah changed when I was like 12 years old!/
And god damn it's cold, despite our lakeside low continentality/
You're faker than me, O(nline) G(angster) dont' battle me.../