Lyrics Braggin' Writes - J-Live

Braggin' Writes

For underground metaphors
You can scrape an inch below the turf, for what it’s worth
My style’s been developed in the core of the Earth
The exhale’s volcanic, the inhale is seismic
So brothers just panic when the Live one arrives with
The natural ability to run through your crew
From 2−1-4 to 2−1-3 to 2−1-2
In other words, from Dallas, to L.A., to the place where J stay
Everyday is mayday
So you can talk your shit on how you’re wettin MC’s
With mad blood stains but I’ll bet you can’t stand the rain
I’m lookin' on your brain with disdain
Go back and reflect on my endeavors black I can’t complain
It’s like a raw deal, consistant with the way I make you feel
The ends stay revealed but the means I conceal
And those who try to steal get decapitated
You wanna snatch my H2O type flow, but it evaporated
I displays my credentials over instrumentals
And my potential, increases at a rate that’s exponential
It’s detremental fuckin' with my thesis
The penetration’s exact, like amniocentesis
I rip your shit to pieces after drainin out your fluid
My vocab is fluent yours is evident of being truant
I know you wanna make moves but son you best to take a second look
Before my knight takes your rook
Cause everybody rappin, and only few can flow
So why the hell they tryin to deal with Live I don’t know
I handle true MC’s on their block or at their show
So if you come with bull kid, keep it on the low
Cause yo, I got the hairsplittin, self-written unbitten style
That leaves the competition running scared and shakin in their pants
You best to set it off cause black it ain’t no second chance
Once I’m open, all you doin is hopin that the Live one
Will put the mic down, but son don’t try to snatch it after
The laughter won’t cease from the comparison, how dare you son
Step around the booth when I’m on
The microphone magician says poof, you’re gone with the wind —
(Background: «The Best Part, is brought to you by the letters: J, L, I, V,
and E»)
— There's no trace of your friends cause you don’t know where the
Beginning ends or where the end begins
But you see that’s the difference, you get sold, I get paid
Black I told you, get played
If you’re broke I’ll have to rain on your parade
You belong in Special Ed if you think you got it made
J-Live with the mic is like the chef with the blade
Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed
Yeah, you thought your shit was fly but the flight was delayed
Because
Cause yo, I take the grey matter of pretenders
Through my mental blender, and then return to sender
My pen don’t pretend to offend
I intend to render MC’s, hangin loose like a fender bender
I recommend regardless of your gender
That you strike fuckin' with J-Live from your agenda
And remember that whoever lends a helpin hand to defend ya
Will get burned to a cinder
As I end the, reign of wack MC’s with their suicidal tendencies
Renderin me sick, with the thoughts of killin enemies
But then I return to reality
Metaphorically murderin MC’s when they battle me
You can’t rattle me
I’m not your average snake slitherin through the grass
I surpass the serpent as I head to class
You consider me crass as I wax that ass, style’s no joke
But you best belive I gets the last laugh