DEFENDER'S RAP

• Verse 1: (after trumpet intro)
• A’ight look. I’m a pretty nice guy, so I’ll give you five seconds to turn-tail
• Get out my face before I lose it and put you on the other side of the veil.
• Make like a nazi and hail, spelt H-A-I-L,
• to the king. That’s me, the one and only, as if it wasn’t easy enough to tell.
• Yeah I’m gat strapped while you’re cap tapped. I’m funky fresh while you’re fresh fapped.
• About to put you down for your last nap. Top your hearse with a bow, call it gift wrapped.
• Cause this verse and its flow is a gift, chap. Never paid shit but you know I own rap.
• Don’t sprint (nyoom) but I’m running this track. Should’ve quit before you got yourself lapped.
• That’s past tense. This is the present, hence it’s best you soon pay recompense
• or learn exactly how a Mercedes bends when I strike you with my Mercedes Benz
• and your head leaves a dent in its rear end, knock you sideways like Yugi made you defend.
• On life support you are gonna depend. Left your floaty when you entered the deep end.
• Grrr…
•  
• Hook: (trumpet bit)
• Pretty sure there’s sharks in these waters…
• Pretty certain that they all smell blood...
• Pretty fishy won’t you come closer?...
• Won’t be so pretty when I’m done
•  
• Verse 2: (til final trumpet bit)
• I admit it's been a while
• since my lips broke out a smile,
• but here I am now with my life-taking instruments.
• I break them out, set to implement
• their sole purposes. To slaughter. It's my versus versus yours.
• Load 'em up, cock 'em, point. Showing your fake ass to the door.
• Fuck that, I'll blow your ass to the floor. Use your blood splatter like contours
• to map out your life. You're right, it's a mess. That's why it looks like a fucking condor
• giving birth to a deformed Rajon Rondo, or in this case "Rajon Rondor".
• Don't need to ponder over that last line, I'm out of rhymes. Should I go on, whore?
• Alright, I guess I could spit a few more. But you better shut the fuck up and listen
• because the doctor is IN and he ain't finished dissin'.
• Damn right ain't nobody gonna be missing you. No regular hospital visits.
• I'll skip the middle man. Bury you alive with a picture of my ass so you can still kiss it.
• Biatch.
•  
• (after final trumpet bit)
• ...Fuck am I supposed to say now?...
• ...Song's over...
• ...well...
• ...fuck you. Haha.