Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Eddie Ill & DL Freestyle (feat. Rise, Gaston, Wiseguy, Wordsworth & Punchline), artist - Apathy. Album song It's the Bootleg, Muthafuckas! Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 01.11.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Demigodz Enterprises
Song language: English
Eddie Ill & DL Freestyle (feat. Rise, Gaston, Wiseguy, Wordsworth & Punchline) |
Yeah, yo, yeah, yo |
Eddie Ill and DL |
Yo, tell you what, man, yo check it out |
This is Apathy the Alien Tongue of the Demigodz and the Tribal Eldest |
Mr. I Don’t Give A Fluffalufagus |
From Connecticut, know what I’m saying |
I spit it like this, son |
My damaging blows dismantling foes |
Cause I be slamming new flows up in your arian domes |
Do I be pampering hoes without a caring enclosed? |
The answer is no |
You’re played like a dancer at shows |
With hammer pants and your bones |
I’m like a cancer that grows even with chemo |
To kill off your oversized ego |
See, cats swear to god that they nice with raps |
But when they write for the tracks it’s all about ice and gats |
But when I attack, you would think Christ was back |
Cause I’ll piss on your platinum flats and that’ll heal the whack |
Then walk over watered-down raps |
Make three classic albums, fall off, and still make an amazing comeback |
My tour of duty’s never for a cutie or the booty |
I’m just out for killing groupies like a verbal horror movie |
I smack thugs like walking on your mom’s rugs with mud on the bottom of your |
beat up lugs |
You whack MCs can’t see the Alien Tongue |
That’s impossible, like trying to bodyslam Big Pun |
Y’all stole my style but my rap was packed with bojack |
You got dragged and smacked when I finally took my flow back |
I’m coming off the dome, like folicles on Cojack |
I’m face to face with death like meet yo black |
Abusing your mind for amusement |
I’m bruising your brain like contusians |
Y’all humans are losing |
Sitting on top of Brandy |
Trade deep thoughts with Jack Handy |
To know me is to love me |
But some people can’t stand me |
Consede a creep I take a week to asnwer my beeps |
I’m the King, I should be fed grapes and fanned with a leaf |
Guys want me deceased |
Girls give my name to they teddies |
You’re whack, you don’t deserve like Kartin or Eddie |
It starts in the belly so put some headphones in your stomach |
Play my tape to your fetus |
Watch him grow to be a genius |
Cause even in a Walkman, where dying never readys |
My raps sound fat like cats who breathe heavy |
Blast music on a school day until the sky is moonlit |
My downstairs neighbors bang the ceiling with a broomstick |
If you don’t like my style, you ahve the wrong case |
Rise, my mindstate is bigger than Spawn’s cape |
Wasted, whack niggas swearing that they laced it |
Face it, Rise on top, like a rapist |
Kick rhymes is priceless, freestlyes across you |
I’m an honor to rhyme with but a jerk to talk to |
Mad quiet, you won’t even know that I’m there |
My closets full of skeletons, I hang my coats on the chair |
Legendary, people won’t believe I exist |
One day I’ll be your favorite rapper and your reason to quit |
In cyphers you get skipped while they passing to me |
You write your illest rap shit when you imagine you’re me |
But if I didn’t have rhymes, I’d probably lose my mind |
And be up psycho late-night buying knives on channel 9 |
Even unsigned, all the rhymes I spit lethal |
While your career’s lucky like people who need people |
It’s the G-A-S to the T-O-N |
I don’t need no friends, just a pad and pen |
Got a master zen battling |
Best rapper in the university, I earn my degree burning MCs |
I’m qualified, I’m not surprised by your departure |
You ain’t got the pride or the heart to survive |
Try to convince me otherwise, but your rhymes are kinda iffy |
To put it simply, not even Riplely’s could convince me |
Turn rappers to mince meat |
Ain’t met an MC better than me |
They’s bodies cast off every penny they bet against me |
Evidently, they never met me |
And now they wish to god they hadn’t cause I’m too hard to manage |
Start to panic try and assess the damage |
Forget the bandage, get the ambulance |
I leave bodies from East New York to West Los Angeles |
But still there’s some nonbelievers |
I guess I can’t convince them all |
I’m standing six feet tall when on the ball |
So let the chips fall where they may, I’m here to stay |
But when the dust settles, where are they? |
Scared them away |
Write rhymes every day, rip mics every night |
Make beats every week, I lead a rery for life |
So Wiseguy |
My brother my pal, won’t ya get on the mic right now and freestyle? |
Wow |
Now you done put me on the spot, I was gonna kick this written rhyme I got |
Not. |
I always go off the top |
I was born with the ability to kill MCs |
I got Spiderman’s agility |
Flip on the mic like a white kid on the bike |
Wiseguy got the rhyme you like whether day or night |
I open you up like a Sprite, shake you up, make you explode |
I grab the mic, cock it back and then reload |
And explode on impact whenever I rap |
I can’t help it, I’m the illest rapper on the map |
Ill wipe you off of it because you’re soft and you should quit |
Because you’re really not equipped with this shit I come up with |
And conducted, raps are whack, you’re self-destructed |
Wiseguy, I’m simply too much to fuck with |
Say it isn’t so, a artist that niggas know |
I’m light-skinned, height 5'10, pidgeon-toed |
God blessed me, I didn’t plan to rhyme |
But he gave you the gift to be a fan of mine |
You stand in line to buy tickets for our events |
All night on the cement in sleeping bags and tents |
At school, I used to freestyle for women in class |
Talk about the gardy ward and then they would give me the ass |
then they would pass the word on to they roommates |
Get they numbers for the summer and hit it over school break |
I lay this verse in less than two takes, I’m hard to impress |
My ex think I want it cause she enlarged in the breasts |
Them niggas ain’t your peeps, they lie about love |
They only call you when they need a ride to the club |
I know why you be home mad at your chick |
Cause she be at our shows, front row, grabbing our dicks |
My parents I used to hear fuck, Lexis didn’t hear much |
Little nigga, sat on books to get his haircuts |
A few feet inches later, a entertainer |
Home of the Nixon rangers sleeping with fitness trainers |
Two-timing, so when I die then my royalties' divided by more wives than Frankie |
Liming |
Fans believe I’m alive on some island I’m hiding in high climates cliffdiving |
I ain’t even done the yet |
Chicks send me naked videos like Alanis Morissette |
On the net your spouce be moving the mouse |
Emailing when she be coming to get the shoes from my house |
I’m out |
Niggas wanna sex my dimes, rock my lines |
Pass me the lie but I don’t get high |
I rap for the cahs |
I kill to the mass |
Hear a screaming I’m broke then I’m rocking the cast |
That your girl autographed, can’t maintain |
Rap 'til I’m a poor man needing Rogane |
Show no shame, be quick to diss ya |
Cum in your girls mouth, then laugh when you kiss her |
Adress me as Mr. Punchline the nigga |
Put you on spot just like a game of twista |
You the type to rock silver, lie that it’s platinum |
Do a joint with Punch and fuck up while you rapping |
If I die, rely on Wordsworth to clap 'em |
Whether dmied or dueced you know that I tapped 'em |
So call me Punchline, one of a kind |
Soon to be one of the greatest rap niggas to shine |