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dumy

OFFICIAL HIP HOP BATTLING RAP

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LOTTA NIGGAS TALK SHIT ABOUT HOW GOOD THEY RAP AND SHIT, WELL NIGGAS TIME TO PROVE YOURS...MILTON, MERO, 26.. AND ALL Y'ALL LOW POST COUNT HAVIN' ASS NIGGAS THAT ARE LIKE "I'm a white rapper, I have an opinion" HERES AN OPPROTUNITY TO INCREASE YOUR HERBA ASS POST COUNT AND DROP A "FRESH ASS RHYME TO IMPRESS YOUR PEEPS", REALLY NOT REALLY...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IF YOU SCARED DON'T REPLY

 

 

 

THIS THEAD IS FOR REAL LYRICISTS..

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what you want text or audio? heres some random battle type ish but if anyone wants to hook up some audio with me and trade feedback let me know.

 

 

these cats cant ascertain, everything my tounge lash is flame, get tragically slain imagine this game, not havin this name

thats like books without binds, hooks without rhymes, motha fuckin crooks without crimes, cooks without swine

lay down the mic now, slay clowns with my hype sound, raw throughout the nation like movin trucks of white pounds

release the verbals that light rounds, on anyone who think i might sound, any less than the best get snuffed right now

please take it another direction, must got mad hate to govern that aggression, not enough of mothers attention

see a psychiatrist,, i smile at kids, they dont know how live ill get, spittin darts at ya frame to leave your spinal wet

what you tryna bet? got a hundred grand that says the flows the ruggedest in the land, and im lovin this man

got so many that wanna replicate, they just second rate, need my steez to have the confidence to step to plate

but i catch that shit comin and intercept the play, expose you to have your half assed career swept away

never want to bump heads, leave everything you love dead, cus hothead steady rest above you like bunk beds

come get punked kid, try to drop knowledge but i slam intelligence, cop bottles and smoke grams in hellish pits

understand how im tellin it, kickin thought patterns and thats all that matters, too much to understand

you get tossed in spasms, lost in travels, erase your mind complete but thats the cost of battle

put up or shut up thats the way it go, got beef dont just say it yo, most the motherfuckers must be crazy slow

tryin out for the rap special olympics, but hothead i wreckon he gifted, for every second he spit shit, a thousand

clones spawn in every direction its sickenin, plus mad groupies pull out my erection and get that shit licked kid

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maybe I should get of my high horse. But the typing of lyrics doesn't really do it for me. And I've never talked my shit up so saying that isn't a cop out.

 

Fuck you fuck heads.

 

p.s. (I've started swearing excessivley lately . Its aweful. )

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Yeah like I said I'm not sure if this was an audio thread or just lyrics? I'm not saying I'm the best but I enjoy hiphop and rhyming so I figured I would add my part. If this is audio then I'll up some shit.

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if niggas got audio, they should post it..it would be nicce to have the written to accompany it as well..

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It seems she loved the smell of winter

Whenever it came, something got in her

Her eyes glimmered, breeze tossed her hair

Pleasant smile, watched her red nostrils flare

Yearning for the chance to play around

Spent all day hiking ontop of the mounds

Crawling to the next after she came it down

She's been crowned Queen of the Mountain

In love to where she can't live without it

Each day she went to paradise, I thought her selfish

But I saw how the frostbite renders her helpless

She danced like Indians for a shower of snow

Wind burned, couldn't leave if she didn't powder her nose

You know how it goes, she took the hard road happily

But I let it go on, I let her enjoy her own tragedy

Mangled by her own apathy- she had no judgement

But I sat back, I did nothing

I always believed some cold air opened the chest

Till I found her in a pile of snow, frozen to death.

 

 

This belongs on an album I'm working on, but, whatever. Battle raps whenever I get home.

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Heres a verse

 

the lost prophet, the boss rock shit, yall lost drop it, get caught sobbin

better off robbin, get no money here, stuck with rusty spears, left with bloody gear

taken down easily,predictable like the seasons be, breakin clowns pleases me,

nobody seein me,king of this court, mvp of this sport, yall mtv and the sorts

i need the weed and the ports, use it ta get nice, then spit precise, split these mics

its thar rock cocaine flow laced with vikes, attack pop clowns, you wack stop now

if we both drop sounds, compare the both and all you gots frowns

hothead the great, toptens he make,dropdead you fake, leave you dropped in a lake

the god gravitate weightless, stabbins made traceless, due to ya lame statements,

submit a grave as ya main placement, go rotaway, take ya spot away, were never

hot anyway, everything you dropped was gay, could never measure high, all the

pleasures mine, in my voice is where the treasure lyes, poisonous verbals dead u guys

skills is omnipotent, the untimely poet, with that grimey flow and the mind be goin

these rhymes be showin, divine force, u spendin time in courts, while im gettin lines in source

every word quotable, wether it spoke or wrote, takin tokes of smoke, average joes are broke

status stays elevated, check the plays im favorite, thats the way im behavin, fuck what u thought just save it

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I dip quills quickly inside, but it's sticky and dry

Like the product opium smokers hit to get high

Till we wither and die; caught up in pivotal times

Spit trivial rhymes; the weight we grasp should break our backs

Reminiscing of days building was a Masons' task

And Monuments they made with slabs, granite and limestone

In the blazing sand; its tough to handle the ride though

I'm glad to arrive home, with the planets alligned strong

The damage to minds done with cans of rustoleum

Some manage to hold thier guns, scavenge petroleum

Rock like a boulders son; keeping heat beneath your feet

Until I'm too weak to speak, maybe they've beaten me

Have I seen defeat? Maybe she was shrouded in lies

In a cowards disguise I had no power to fight

The Flower of Life only blooms an hour in time

 

 

Shit from a long time ago when I thought I was a conscious rapper. Turns out I wasn't its from a track called "Dreams of Alexandria."

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Lyrics:

step to the battlefield, my gat on weild, walkin in a place where many caps are peeled

taking fearless steps, takin spears to necks, only gonna stop when open fields are left

rollin like achhiles, crackin mothafuckas down the center like phillies, steady spill these

main arteries, dealiverin pain just like it was taught to me, step infront of this train cautiously

man ill hit you like a brick wall, so i can sit tall, wanna face off your quick to get malled

rippin through crowds savagely, my machete ravaging, me bein dead is not happening

fighting hard till the end, brawlin through men, they always make mistakes like drawing in pen

take advantage of that, put my land on the map, sever your body parts put ya hand in a sack

bring it back to the village, mysterious to the children, marked in history for my mericless killen

the lord of the rap, nothin shorter than that, the rest of these cats aint even a quarter of that

 

 

 

dont step to battle, leave your frame rattled, whole fuckin army slayn just like cattle

this is the best, you dont want to contest, war tactics'll leave your skeleton undressed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

my peoples leader, stackin bodies like katrina, twistin off caps like a bottle of aquafina

blood drenched armory, you dont want a part of me, your whole units a buffet and im starvin g

comin for the crown, leave you sunk in the ground, bodily remains left in chunks and mounds

as i discard your flesh, wish you didnt start this mess, my fuckin presence marks the best

supernatural juggarnaut, far surpassed anything that hugs the block, must be puffin rock

to think you can damage this, thats like gettin your tubes tied and still havin kids its not happenin

always on top of my game, your left sobbin in pain, while any witnesses are left droppin my name

speakin about the chosen one, lettin blood flow for fun, you ready soldier then go get done

come on in soon as your legs place, your in check mate, i dont need the tech spray

gotta steel blade, to kill fakes, the real way, makin sure your fuckin body will decay

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Gucci, I enjoyed it..though I think you need to work on your flow some it seems clipped and forced in a lotta places..just honest criticism..

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Slap the asian ass, roll up a blunt full of grass,. hit you up for some money 'cause I need five bucks for gas

 

 

 

word

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YEAH THAT WAS DOPE..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

damn, I guess ain't no real emcees on this bitch..just a buncha niggas talking shit..

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Yeah my flow is what I need to develope more so I have been working on it. Each time I spit it gets a little smoother. I think its mic quality that factors in somewhat too. Like the way my voice is recording right now it sounds more unnatural sometimes then it does live. The spots where I pause and then kick the rest I do that intentionally if thats a factor too. My shit has come up a lot since I started and it will rise more with time. My goal is to have it on some wild shit within maybe 3 years.

 

This summer will be the 2nd year I have been spitting. I've been writing lyrics for like 3 or 4 though.

 

p.s I think I'm going to quit smoking cigarettes in a few days. All the newports and blunts have my shit BURNING if I don't get the verse in a couple takes.

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I GOT GUNS THAT GOT GUNS THAT GOT GUNS THAT GOT GUNS BIGGA THAN YOU.

 

GUNS GUNS GA GA GUNS GUNS GUNS THAT GOT GUNS.

 

GUNS NIGGA.

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COLLABORATE AND LISTEN

CACASH IS BACK WITH A BRAND NEW INVENTION

ON A MISSION

TO FUCK HOES IN MY FORD EXPEDITION

CACASH THE ONE AND ONLY

YOU CANT CLONE ME

GOT ALOT OF HATERS AND ALOT OF HOMIES

SOME FAKE AND SOME PHONY

BACK THEN HOS DIDNT WANT ME, NOW IM HOT, HOS ALL ON ME...

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heres 8 bars or so, see how long i can be bothered to type for ,

(this is in a London accent)

 

i'm 'a give it to you raw like sushi,

man'll come and run their fuckin gums act too deep,

but when the final time come can't slew me,

fuck releasin anger i explode with fury,

spit a thousand riddles but you cant confuse me,

i shoot the sherif ride into the sun like movies,

i'm 'a leave you stressed out and moodie,

im nice, but alcohol and drugs improve me.

 

i know writing lyrics dusn't really work, but if u can see how i flow then tell me wat u think...

 

btw nice lyrics gucci and milton,

im on hearin some mad over the top outrage by meroe haha

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No diss.

 

Yo I know this girl that would run for runts

On 5th avenue haven't known her a month

And now I'm playing doctor, yo I couldn't stop her

White chocolate cover nuts all over her whoppers

 

And oh yeah big ups to my peanut butter cups

Busy rollin' with my rollos in the back of the bus

I'll smack ya just cus ,I sitting milking your duds

I'll slip my twix into the mix, Cookie caramel and fudge

 

Smacking big league chew like the big wigs do

Where my fiz wiz ,foo? Sour patch kids too

Jolly rancher the answer, while pocket in my pants are

filling up with m&m's even the ones that cause cancer

 

bubblicious is delicious never need to do the dishes

eating wonka bars praying I find the golden ticket

No shit there's so many muther fuckin' good and plenty

 

Going to the candy store? Don�t forget my O'henry

Yo here's a twenty and you better hurry back quick

You know what I want, the uh.. uh.. watchamacallit

The uh bar, uh score, uh heath.. yeah that's the one

Bring your tooth brush this candy track is almost done

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normally I'd refuse to ever rap on the internet.. but I'll try to e-freestyle for kicks:

 

 

 

ayo,

you cromags eat beandip off the tip of my penis,

if penship were forensics you hacks'd come up geneless

I mean this, more or less in the past tense,

like that time last week when you got your ass kicked,

flash frame fast forward to when you end up in a casket -

I'm blazin' a matchstick while chasin' this crackhit

with room backlit and hit that shit like wiffle ball bat kit,

amazing with that shit, most spectacular in practice

where I showbiz the cinematic past The Passion, emphatic,

beat your ass with this ratchet while I backflip from matress

then walk around stayin' stuck up like an acrobatic cactus, straight up,

these putrid peons perfectly personify patheticism,

I plan to transmit more rackette than tennis balls with antennas in 'em

 

 

 

Alright, nevermind. I feel corney as shit doing that.

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