Ya ass kickin's evident as cheech & chong, advertised ganja/
Only thing you'll do before ya perish, better rap in christ honor/
Braggin-cash? He lacks-to-have exact change for the biscuit/
So he pleads his word door-to-door, like jehovah's witness/
Ya mamacita's lips guided, to deliver my head shots-this-tour/
Madly pissed but silent, this spic with attitudes popped-by-four/
Injured beyond healing, like his pickups, they're not insured/
Meaningless in your life, I figure, why hold this hostage-for/
His debates more petty than greg gumbel-bob costas-wars/
No wesley snipes involved, when these blades shank-you-too/
Mixing religion with mics, stealin more than kirk franklin-do/
Fuckin-disgrace, cock back the hammers to, bust-in-ya-face/
The best surgeons wouldn't get the motherfucker-replaced/
To push-a-T with malice, becomes his idea to own-just-clips/
Just callin him rex-less, cause his flows never cold-blooded/

Send ya physical-to-the-doctors, pain's critical as a mobster/
Whinin after he's bruised & battered, typical of a toddler/
I'm employed at KFC, & ensure chickenhead ho's-are-done/
It's like weed in this league, you can't receive an 0-for-1/
Complain, cause raw-kings are slaine, without special-teams/
Reduce to peasant, find it pleasant cleanin restroom-pee/
Split ya skull vertically on stumps, so that the lumber-divides/
Your rap position symbolizes, this verse's number-of-lines/

yo dis nigga spiitin like he cool,
prolly on his computer dressed to kill,
not knowin dat i fuck all his shit up once his blood is spilled,
we alll know dat shit was prolly rehearsed,
thinkin he rappin a ill verse,
dis pussy nigga dont even deserve a hurse,
matta a fact dis nigga dont even desearve my verse,
maybe we should hit him wit a still face and make his brains disperse,
den rape his bitch on top of his body and quench her thirst,
dog gon it i really wasnt gonna say shit
but when my trey spit
it leave niggas unidentified like space ships,
leave him more sour den the rocafella split,
dis nigga prolly wish he could kiss my ass,
so he can taste my shit,
given dis nigga ample opertunities,
read dis nigga like da davince code,
flames money and hate aint new to me

Still Dreamin ENT.
Holla Bac

__________________
Blow yo brains in yo hand and tell you hold that thought!!!

u think u a crip wearin them black and blue.
but wut u dont realize is thats how ima leave u.
fool, u style sucks, quit now, cus its not to late.
u like a retarded person trying to test his fate.
u dont belong here, and no one would kiss ur ass.
davinci code, unfolds reading CRYPTIC IS A DUMBASS.
X got better rhymes, and he puts them to practice.
but fool u still got a chance to leave with out harasment.
some of ur shit is played. and ive seen it before.
but u got a jugurnaut as an avetar think u hardcore.
bitch ill leave u rolling on the groud gasping for air.
ill choke u with ur own mic cord till u see i dont care.

__________________
im so ill that cancer thinks im its father.

Who the fuck is a cryptic, this guy's feminine as bright-lipstick/
I kick-his-ass/ So doctors stitch-a-mask on him like Ipkiss/
Sick of bitches-like-you, my flows'll clog & cardiac arrest-you/
For snitchin-by-two, you should've spilled out of test-tubes/
Too dumb to see con-artists wit green, buck-you-in-the-face/
Your skills-reachin high? He still-dreamin, a fuckin-disgrace/
Talking about chicks? It's my dick, your bitch greatly-honors, bastard/
The only pussy he fucked in Detroit, asks for eighty dollars after/
In ya hometown, ya better off dead, the way hoods-extends-proof/
I pay-my-respects, but really feel like, it should-have-been-you/

I'll stomp on ur mind frame....and leave the pictures blurry....
pull ur brains out ya mouth....u aint the south....just cuz ur style is dirty...
u a bitch....spitting long lines like a barber shop...
u battling the greatest...I spit them flat lines till ur heart just stops....
I'll X u out 3 times like the beer company...so why talk?....
cus if X writes the "jump-Off" that just means they scraping em off the side walk...

__________________

Either ya smacked-quick-or-shot, Raw King turns amateur-ho/
So even addin-those-dots, won't help ya characters grow/
Call me T. Soprano/ The way I see ya own flow, extort-thru-trash/
He use barbershop so much, Ice Cube needs endorsement-cash/
No wonder when your wifey, has my nuts seduced, she's taken/
Like bills, when it's dues in this rap-game, You refuse-to-pay-it/
Unstrap spines like removin-a-back-brace, Seen what he-made-of/
Dying on tapes like saw, Got ya wonderin, Where-he-take-us?/
No compliments, his lyrics uglier than a heavy bitch wit blue-thongs/
Flowin style as raw as saving food, they already been chewed-on/
Cold-tradition, even during prohibition, I was slangin-all-the-beer-too/
Dethrown this king, I've seen better crowns, hangin-off-my-rearview/

Son your whack.. im phat
i sat, heres a phone hold dat

LMAO PWNED

__________________

wtf?....Rey....u just killed the cypher....u fucking ass.....
6 line min....but thanks for keeping at 2...ur stuff is trash...
Its time u taken out...I bite ur legs off like the muffin man....
and do the same to any fake nigga who think they running this fucking thang.....
U need help kid...I write rhymes but I'll spill ur ink like a felt tip...(thats a pen)
U from toronto...but I Raw King'll still Can'a'thug for impersonating me like Elvis....

w/e

__________________

Gopha bitch, well known on text sites fa bustin kidz
let mah punchez hit, leave ya vision more blurry then ya fuckin sig
so like Canada I KNOW you dont want war dude
Raw King? wtf is that? tha nickname ya boyfriend made for you?
so screw dis fool, to fuck him up I dont need a reason
i'll overthrew this pussy king like committin treason

Gopha my nutts...u hanging on me like some one elses baggage...
dawg...aint u know Im a savage that'll ravage u faggets and leave u scarred in the chest like Saget?...
U new comer...I'll tiger uppercut u till u throw up....
then punch u in ur lil ass boy chest till it blows up....
and it takes year for fake niggaz to gather skillz...nigga Im the dream....
but If my sig looks blurred to u....then maybe u should wipe ur blood off the screan...

__________________

what a wack bitch..... you a raw king?
your wackness exposes the real thing.
fuck this kid and his fuckin mugshot pics.
only thing on rv you gettin is a post full of dick.
believe the hype man its tru you fuckin suck.
think your ego's blown up.. bt your wack shit still shows up!

wow^...ur even worst the before....is that really u? I thought ur were supposed to get better at this...not the other way around...a/ewayz

was that supposed to rhyme?...I guess not...atleast if its theory...
I turn my brain off to battle u...If I dont..I'll baffle u by mearly speaking clearly...
U wak like a nigga jerking off in his room....
talk about my pic? u look like RV's ganetor...drop the mic and grab the broom....
I'll put ur ass in a tomb...cuz Theory dont speaks facts....

If u dont beleave me...just read that^....
U'll never be shit...even if u came out the wrong hole...
and the only way Ur blowing up...is when I let ur lil lungs go.....

__________________

played lines and punches suprised u aint ducked.
same old gay shit man no point all your shit sucked.
........army or not man your still a fag.
i mean jus look at the myspace pic with chad.
whats wrong here wack? fag? or just plain shit.
you could fuck a wet dream up with your lyric.
no wonder why people confuse you with SOLO.
cus your a easy win confused wack with dope.
your a joke fuck your gay lines like q your WACK. PERIOD.
Im not shittin you man you suck dry your luck... im serious.

ya written's exposed, that you'll never be the sickest with flows
send clips through ya clothes, leave 'blood on ya white tee'
.................................................. ..like ya 'signature shows'
the serious fact is ....... your text clearly needs pratice
if this dude thinks he can beat me, this 'theory is backwards.'
disappearing ya tactics, shove a spear through your atlas
mad cause ya garbage? ...
you'll just have to 'play the role, frustrated' like an 'furious actress'

__________________

The Scholar