CHALLENGER'S RAP

• If lyrics was ammo, then I got a shotgun shell, and my Glock runs well,
• Show up and secure victory, then leave with that Top Gun smell,
• No words left by the first step, lyrical murder to leave a curb wet,
• Bring back old Pharaohs in a curled vest just to hurt death,
• I broke through old crews and sold you this soul food,
• Wrap up a rhyme and a story like J Cole could,
• My punch is a lethal cold hook and my brain will decimate whole books,
• And thats just inspiration, that leave you heralding new mindsets,
• Flip a dime for a dollar, you find my lines for the scholars,
• Rap scholar, not a whack baller, dreams of rolling up fat dollars,
• My rhymes are unitary, not of the half order, deepening the math-sorta,
• They call me when they need hooks or the beef cooks,
• Exogenesis of an intellect unrivalled,
• I got the blueprints to have industry shook,
• Fame redefined, never the same since I broke through,
• If music is food for the soul, then call mine soul food,
• Extensive vocabulary,
• I use terminologies for the beat, freaks and peeps,
• Astronomical output, I solemnly fill out the pages over repeating weeks,
• Never one to miss dreams or the schemes,
• My mind hungers for rhymes like a fiends,
• Because the crowds a mix, and I deploy tricks and get them their fix,
• Emcees beef and got a fair diss,
• Locate me in the derelict, where the weeds a need,
• Smooth, let the rhythm hit em,
• Listen, and best not miss as I embark to step on this journey,
• My rhymes are barely legal, they need attorneys,
• Pussies turn and worship rock stars,
• But the whack deny these facts, that I got hot bars,
• Thugs come and seek beef, and know I let them drop hard,
• Enemies find Im harder on em, like Hitler on them nine Jews,
• I only fund and run with pros, not them blind crews,
• And of course, this is a fat rap, not poetry and prose,
• Opponents and me, our flows not even close to,
• I whip my crew like troops and have us rote learn the codebook,
• And I'm never short on words, got MCs who stole whole hooks,
• A gift: every time I spit I send shockwaves through primetime news,
• Break news better than the advent of global catastrophe,
• Like an exponential blow-up, frontin MCs never show up,
• To my battles or the lot, my rhymes are the best in the shop,
• My shot routine rivals Kobe, MCS reaching their pinnacle know me,
• Because it's only through routine study, one makes it to the summit,
• Dedicate this to this worlds devils,
• Who got nothing better to do but try and swap genders,
• My rhymes are ice cold, hard enough to chop blenders,