Battles  FrankVicious vs DiamonD-D3Z

RULES

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Max of 35 lines

THIS BATTLE IS OVER

FrankVicious won this battle!

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CHALLENGER'S RAP

  • Clock ticking — I’m sick of the waiting, I’m pacing, impatient,
  • Brain racing, I’m craving that faded sensation —
  • intoxicated, elevated, levitating off the basement.
  •  
  • Heavyweight rhyme-slayer, steady with cadence,
  • Dedicated to detonate stages with statements.
  • Generate greatness, excitement contagious,
  • Providing delight with the rhymes that I’m blazing.
  •  
  • I own the night — microphone in my sight,
  • Feel more than alright when I torch t hrough the mic.
  • Insane with the flames that I spray when I write,
  • Spit fire so wild it ignites in the night.
  •  
  • No hesitation, I strike with precision,
  • Paint vivid visions like blades through incision.
  • Breaking tradition with verbal collisions,
  • I’m bending dimensions, rewiring the system.
  •  
  • Patience depleted, I’m heated, I’m restless,
  • Verses repeated leave rivals defenseless.
  • I’m reckless but measured, relentless with pressure,
  • The pen is my weapon, the flow is my treasure.
  •  
  • Elevate higher — I’m wired for war,
  • Kick down the gates when I’m storming your door.
  • Rhymes intertwine with a power that’s raw,
  • The crowd wants more, so I give ‘em the roar.
  •  
  • Never complacent, I’m racing the clock,
  • Every bar sacred, engrave it in rock.
  • The levels I’m raising — I’ll never be stopped,
  • You’re hearing the factor — the best on the block.

DEFENDER'S RAP

  • Yo,
  • I heard Frankvicious think he’s sick — more like mildly contagious,
  • I’m the plague in this cage, you just Facebook outrageous.
  • You talk tough online, but in person you glitchin’,
  • You ain’t vicious, Frank — you’re “Frankly suspicious.”
  • I’m a nightmare in rhyme form, bars cut like incision,
  • Every line’s precision — you spit indecision.
  • Claim you got drive, but your tank’s always empty,
  • Only time you had gas, was from food that ain’t friendly.
  • I’m the rap reaper, creepin’ where the weak sleep at,
  • You the type to call Uber for a rematch.
  • Step to me, Frank, you’ll get cooked like brisket,
  • This ain’t beef — this a Michelin meal, you just biscuit.
  • Your flow’s generic, my pen’s hieroglyphic,
  • You write like you scared of the beat — that’s scientific.
  • You claim vicious? Bro, that’s fiction and wishes,
  • Only thing you killin’ is them microwave dishes.
  • I turn pressure to diamonds, you crumble like dishes,
  • You want smoke? I’m the genie — I grant death wishes.
  • When I spit, the mic flinch, the crowd turn religious,
  • Bow heads, light candles — rest in peace, Frankvicious

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