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~ Back On My Old Account B!tches ~

:::::Hello:::::

fresher than a newborn and i'm stayin fresh to death
and i'm givin all i got until there ain't nothin left
solo since my group flipped the script on some simple shit
take a breath with head down scratchin my temple which
should i do, give up and let em win and let me lose
nah, let the beef die, i've got nothin to prove
except to myself and to the lord maybe he'll answer my prayers
when i write letters to the other side there'll be someone there
to listen and bump my shit, and Lord willin they might like it
and allow me to spit what i want so i can work out my shit
i love it, i really do and thanks for feelin me
props to moms for my life, thank you God for killin me
or makin me see the light, whichever you feelin most
rap or intelligence, if i had to choose, i would pick both

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"I don't want to be deep... I want to feel deep and use that feeling to express depth itself..."
-Konchance

my poetry:
untitled

...which way to go
feelin every crack and crevice on this lonely road
thunderstorm rollin my way, duck the clouds, still got hit
had the i-whatever on the tip of my tongue but just forgot it
now i'm stuck on this one way, dead-end kinda road
like Pac writin about how he was gonna die in '94
look left i see all the practice and all the stressin
look ahead and visualize all of the Lord's blessins
look to he right and see some niggaz in the kitchen cookin crack
wind blew so hard turned me sideways, close my eyes so i'm not lookin back
conentratin on the ground, wearin down my pen along the way
so i can help a traveler going down the same road someday
hit that dead end but for some reason i saw the end of the line
ain't like it, ran hard as hell then hurdled over the sign
went runnin through the desert then started seeing some trees
glance to the side and saw some thorough brothaz runnin beside me
and they made me forget where i was from, we continued to run
the storm passed, so did the sand, now just trees and sun
and thought damn, no such thing as a dead end cuz after death there's life
and after that who cares, but just the hope makes my future bright

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"I don't want to be deep... I want to feel deep and use that feeling to express depth itself..."
-Konchance

my poetry:
untitled

I'm used to hype, flows a guitar I live the acoustic life
hang my moniker on the shelf as long as the noose is tight
swords that enter the white flesh on particular mic checks
of phlem carbon-coded with poisness venom it's like death
oncee Cannabarz steps in the ring it's one of the right/lefts
history is told - Cannabarz is one of the sites best

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First off it gets worse its gets no better then this...
Stomp a bitch, and beat her boi completly senceless...
Hense this hardcore rap, your just a joke like borat...
I'm not bein' mean, you really deserve to know that...
Go Go Gadget, thats what I had to spit into the mic...
Then I get back to hittin' your bitch all fuckin' night....

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On The Mic I'm Number One...I'm Also Number Two...
The

TAKE MY ADVICE FROM PEOPLE FROM CANADA nd FUCK YA LYFE

organizations of intoleration hatin my occupation
measure me mostly mention my mind and how i been wastin
time writin verses for no real reason but to do it and congrats
you're probably right, but i don't got time to think of that
i stay busy composing these poems, they healin my soul
i think, but to be honest only one way to know
not ready to go, so i'm gonna just keep doing me
and be your favorite poet you'll never meet...

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"I don't want to be deep... I want to feel deep and use that feeling to express depth itself..."
-Konchance

my poetry:
untitled

whats crack'in?......
a couple of bones... a few teeth.... and a nigga heart
for claiming he was a thug... when he was a bitch from the start
should i hit with a few left then a right
or keep it hood.... pull out the knife... stab'em... then bash'em with the pipe
im hype... like who the fuck what WHAT!
im trying to settle my beef in the street till im walking all ova hes gut
im done claiming im gang bagg'in...... im doing things with people i grew up
with.. and strap a c4 to ya cheast and watch as he's style blew up
quick.. prick my verbal punches is like metal rhymes trowing
i'll put a bullet in ya brain.. bet that'll be MIND BLOWIN
the crime slow'in... so im gonna bring back violence
start the wilding if hes smile'in...an have hes body burried on a island
and yea i love the tropical... but i'll give this fruit punches
that'll have him laying on hes back like he couldnt do crunches
he's style im shoting throu hunt'ing..... he aint crazy hes a while deer
from battles... to cyphers... to open mic he like us... i can tell he's a wild queer
i'll never deal-with-chips.. cuz he stay funny with my money...clown
chip stay with a frown.. cuz ransum like dildo... he'll never go down .......fuckah...

dont spit ya dummy bars to Sonny Barz, when I'm comin' hard
my rhymes' sharp, you'll get cut like grass in ya fuckin' yard
Dudes act tough in bars, get laid on they fuckin' yard
just cuz they got 'gassed up' like a fuckin car
Look, you wanna battle me in text for the cash
you beat around the bush... like kickin' the president's ass
I move too quick, you never been fast
u claim u got gwop, but wut u put in ya pockets never been cash
U don't put stacks in ya pockets, u dont stack cash nigga
you put SNACKS in ya pockets, u a fat ass nigga
u prolly snitchin on dudes, u a rat ass nigga
wen i'm grippin da tools, you'll be a flat ass nigga
Dudes front like they some bad ass niggas
til they get they bad ass popped wit dem bad ass triggas
i'll clap fast nigga, watch the pussy get spilt
i'll aim da clip n make em dip like cookies and milk

just rhymin'.

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A.K.A The Punchline Champion!

ya need to stop rhyme'ing and go back to being a paperboy
cuz you'll have no play with punches... if you make it a toy
i'll shake ya noyd... this faget happy to battle think'in he's surrounded by gym-men
but i'll have ya soul hop outta ya cheast like the grimmlyns
how you the punchline champion... when the belt around ya neck
strangle ya to death...and perform C.P.R with a tazser every 1 thousend of a sec
you spit kiddy rhymes and look worst then p.diddy exsersize
go-ahead and flex-ur-size, cuz u'r punches are more fake then new york titty size
the truth... yea he really ly's... cuz only flow he overcome is a tides
no need for a strike when we no match..he just a bitch that wanna cum for a ryde
so if ya wanna test the kid.. punches i'll curl you like dumb-bells
ya done... well.... i'll have to strip ya moms and girl for a cd cover only way u gone-sell
and by my punches and style you can tell our
style far apart... but if we get locked together...,
i'll smash ya throu... only way u'll cell-bar... BITCH

cell/sell
i should'nt have to explain it.....
you just not fucking with me.... EZ..

lol you again hunh...

ima take ownership and say stop postin here............................
not votes on our battle yet but you know its clear....................
i blazed you like a fresh swisha wit da calico-flavor....................
and it wll be on ya record forever 4 ya ass to savor...................
you keep die-n in these cyphers im startin to feel bad.....
do you NY style exchange a herse for a new york CAB.....
you fag you lag in this race of better minds
everytime i respond to u its like you steppin on a mine
your organs are gone ya vocals are simple forgotten
like a 100 year old pussy in desert heat homeboy...
ya ass is ROTTEN...........

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we dont have a vote yet CUZ you suck.. voters already know you lost before seenig the verse
you should of duck... cuz when the vote do come in its only gonna hurt worst
you aint shit pratics lying in a herse.. ya style curse.. so'll i'll let him go first
just to dispurse a verse that shows if He's sick then im the doctor slash nurse
lets get to the punches... ya swings never land like sattle lite
i never fight... i rather have him bite the led like termites
back slap'em with a left to see if things turn-right
RIZO DA GOD SO DUMB.. HE argu's with smokers saying,
you need to face the left IN-ORDER TO BURN RIGHT.... MOTHER FUCKAH... EZ

^^ THINK ABOUT IT.....
YA NOT FUCKING WITH ME POINT BLANK... EVER...

thats was hellah funny kidd but dont get it twisted

ransum you aint shit ,ya verses suck kidd your not the sickest
this da real thing you only qualify for the special olympics
you couldnt even be an extra in a freestyle battle
my flow quicksand youngin your is cheap gravel...
ive been servin you like agassi did in his prime..........
but ya verse is just racket wastin every1's time
wit ya lil cute bars im tired of babysittin
check ya girls chin cuz thats were my babies is sittin
im pretty sure ya favorite color is rainbow you dont belong
you was da back up dancER for scisco on the thong song
im GOD bitch i control ya destiny wit a snap of da finger...
you better off pullin a T-pain...
realizin you cant do it..jus another rapper ternt singer...

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lol..... this mother fucker dont give up do he???

its like should i beat'em up stab'em or shot'em
this mother fucker wont die... he should join the army and let me recrut'em
screw'em he'll learn to give up like bernard after winky's right
smash he's grill.. atless that can be hes exscuse why it hurt to think an write
i cant go any more easyer on you.. you cool me off when im trying to warm up
i actully gave him a WINDOW of oppatunity.. an he complains the door-shut
he's useing R&B singers in hes bars you can tell this bitch sweet
you couldnt be above me if you was standing 10 feet
you could run around me with ya arms out and u still couldnt daze me
rizo da god in a crew NEVER... cuz in this garden of eve im the rose u'll never get pick like a daisy... mother fuckah...

and i aint even trying no more...
it aint no fun beating up a herb... lol..