| I snap wack rappers in half like they was a stack of crackers/
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| Till the animals they’re crafted after, be laughing at ya/
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| Blasting ya bastards, cause it’s for certain/
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| Your skills are a figment of your imagination like Tyler Durden
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| Whatever happened to qualified lines written down with mental quality/
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| I renamed your style pet-peeve because your shit just fuckin bothers me/
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| Don’t bother coming back, with your weak thoughts, I’m outta body/
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| I ripped em outta your skull with my one-handed lobotomy
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| Here’s an affirmation, I’m leaving your ass thrashed with lacerations/
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| Voraciously masticating, you waste half of your dates while masturbating/
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| Placing your severed in front of an assassination station/
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| So that day to day you’ll Face decapitation
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| You can’t stop, top me, or even rock me/
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| I don’t believe in fuckin' crews, I even beat the guy who brought me/
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| You stop me? |
| Now that’s some shit that fucking shocks me/
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| Send your girl to ride my dick, cause that’ll be the only way you’ll top me,
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| You got me?
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| My dick’s bigger than Mandingo, I swing with a fandango/
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| Banged a one-legged retarded bitch in a Durango, just to catch a different
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| angle/
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| Angles angel different in competition, exposing your styling all bare/
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| Cause even your shittiest flows has got your rhymes running scared/
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| Sometimes I can’t bear to witness the multitude of mediocrity/
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| Running repetitive schemes making hip-hop a total mockery/
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| But awkwardly, I welcome the weak when they’re all coming/
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| Cause in competition, I house more niggas than if my name was Mr. Drummond
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| Can I take you out? |
| Probably
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| Make you take wrong turns like when Whitney decided to marry Bobby/
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| You’ll get hooked up, then get fucked early like girls that fornicate/
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| I come off like loose promotional stickers on porno tapes/
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| The head to coronate/
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| With flows so organic that plants are green with envy, just how the hell you
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| think they chlorinate/
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| No chemicals needed to formulate/
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| Challenging calendars to tic-tac-toe's the only way that you can score a date
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| I hear you crying with pleading, but your times up like a lease/
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| What? |
| Jealous cause I move crowds like Riot Police?
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| Bitch, stay at ease, and back off my mic please/
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| Cause you seem to be giving my beat some kind of fucking disease/
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| You trying to step to me? |
| Like you’re the main feature?
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| Like bad audio email, I’ll ignore ya and delete ya/
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| Then I’ll beat ya, I mean, like, Just BEAT ya and defeat ya/
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| In front of your friends and family watching helpless from the bleachers/
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| Yea, I spoke to all your teachers, went over your notes in your pad/
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| And The part where you were speechless… best rap that you had/
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| I wanted to respond, I just didn’t hear what you said/
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| Rhymes with expiration dates on em, I mean, your shit is so dead/
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| That in the middle of a battle, in your rhyme deliberation/
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| You’re gonna need that kid from 6th Sense for translation/
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| Now, follow these directions, go to your rhyme at the top/
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| Switch to delete, cause you’re a bitch
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| To grasp fame you clutch performers/
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| You gotta take scissors to almanacs of your street to cut corners/
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| Weak MCs on my lunch order/
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| In the winter you bitches lips are my certified nut-warmers/
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| The oral emancipator, Formative rants that paved the way
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| For an advance decay of exorbitant wack pervaders/
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| Through attacks for haters, Flows are the active agents/
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| Blindfolded fast breaks just to show you horrible stats later/
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| There’s no surprise here/
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| I’m Tonedeff but with fully functional fingers, tongue, and nose, eyes… ears/
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| Like college kids buy beer, it’s a given/
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| That nobody else can flip it when Logic & Tone is rippin/
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| Assaulting your bitch to hit the shit with ease/
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| I’m rocking it HEART, never skipping a beat—-even when I sneeze/
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| With no FEAR of amateurs/
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| I’m prepping the pop world for combat like giving Britney Spears in Africa |