BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
King of the East Coast
- bloody crowns rust in gutters, streetlights bleed confetti
- If you aint spittin' razorblades, you just a fuckin' spaghetti
- east coast winters freeze hope bones crack, nobody petty
- step to the throne? Get skinned, hung raw thats the confetti
- throne splinters under weak spines, splatter maps on the pavement
- fake kings gargle bleach rhymes, choke on their own enslavement
- every syllables a shiv carve "fraud" in your rib inscription
- grave plots pre sold, your careers a fuckin' premature ejaculation
- bullets converse in dialects, each whisper a census count
- lyrics melt faces like acid reflux on a discount
- you hard? nah, bitch, you pinterest boards with gang signs
- my pens a flamethrower your mixtapes just lint fries
- east coast storms flood basements, drown rats in their own leakage
- your bars are daycare naps, mine? morgue slab poetics
- you claim grind but beg for features like a crackheads loose teeth
- I ghostwrite obituaries your names in the next sheet
- venom laces every vowel, spit rot through your squads facade
- your chains cubic zirconia mines a dog tag robbed from God
- you wavey? nah, you sinkin', submarine with screen door armor
- im the riptide that splits ships, leave captains dismembered in chargers
- fuck a crown grab the cleaver, split the scene like a butchers block
- streets cough blood clots, your whole cliques a clogged artery, watch the plot pop
- yall lyrical niggas just parrot squawks, im the hawk that plucks feathers mid flight
- turn your hardest bars to nursery rhymes, leave your carcass frostbit like nikes in ice
- I dont write, ignite sulfur laced in the pen stroke
- burn your catalog to ash, call it kinfolk, smoke signals where your kin choke
- your bitch wrote a love song 'bout my grip, now her wrist broke
- im the reason morgues got ziplocs, zipper your lips or get stitched closed
- cement shoes, but im walkin' on water, you floatin' face down in a soda can coffin
- grind on your bitch like molars, she coughin', call that jaw breaker profit
- yall clowns in a circus, im taxin' the tent, pop goes the budget
- your spines a wet noodle, my foot in your esophagus, digest the fucking subject
- your whole cliques a flop, call that group therapy
- im splittin' wigs like atomics, leave your crew soupy
- fuck a ceasefire, im sparkin' the block like a faulty fuse box
- your hype mans a corpse why you think he ghostwrote your hot cross?
- You spit? nah, you dribble soft, leakin' weak semen bars
- im the butcher with cleavers for ears, dissectin' stream of consciousness
- you lyrical? bitch, your pen’s a tampon, soak up the cramps
- my rhymes hit like cinderblocks tossed from project ramps
- you hard? bitch, your bloods diluted with kool aid and cowardice
- im the east coast ebola, catch a case just by crowd surfin'
- yall niggas is appetizers, im the main course with the fork stuck in
- your chains cubic zirconia my pinkys the North Star
- talk slick? I'll unzip your face, wear your skin like a windbreaker
- your flows a flatline, im the defibrillator, clear, bitch, wake up
- you bodied a track? nah, you just licked the ashtray
- im the arsonist spittin' flames, turn your legacy to ash gray
- fuck your chain, I'll yank the gold out your colon
- your clouts a hemorrhoid, swollen, stinkin', irrelevant
- im the landfill where wack rappers get composted
- your mixtapes a suicide note, post it, I'll toast it
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