64 bars of revenge part 2

You lot are not gonna topple this warrior

I’ll send your awful waffling to dystopia

You wobble and worry, sorry to vomit dirt

Who wants to be demolished first?

Jot a curse and my stock of words will rock the verse

Log off nerds and inch back, stop your work

Between the Rap God and worms there’s a big gap

Believe you can hand off me with a bitch slap?

Then I’ll hit back, devour you in quick sand

And slip your lyrics in trash, big man

I’m coasting home against this midget’s chit chat

You all better know it, ‘cause your shit rap IS wack

I severe the pens of competitors who think that

They can meddle with the head of this match

My acapella pencil has me scrapping instrumentals

I’m the devil that’s been damning all you dead fools.

 

Do I have to mention you’re the wackest member

So I’m back to sentence this hapless peasant

Rapping feckless, your bars are reckless

Don’t start messing, I’ll put you behind bars felon

Accept your crimes arsehole life’s hard, you’ll give me a nice spar

But remember I’m the rhyme star

My essence is everywhere when I write bars

And I’m ending emcee enemies that Die Hard

I get under my nemesis and fuck him up

He suffered my terror, I blew up his stuff

I’m like the Russian government, luckless thugs

Get a rough pummelling and stuck in a coffin

So it’s blood that you’re coughing

Hence, you better hush all your mocking, you’re looking foolish, stop it

I tick those boxes, you’ve lost this

And kick you to the ground, you won’t get a shock win

 

You’re not nicking my crown, you’re a big one to boast

But you’re hitting up foes, wishing they give you a vote

Thinking you’re so dope you’ll pillage my throne

They’re admitting it though “you’re not sickest on show”

You reply “kidding?” and moan, slip into groans

Then you’re hyping about bitches and hoes

Not reminding me that you’re a gigolo

Not even fit to kiss the toes of the king of flows

Don’t stand and act like you didn’t know

I don’t even need to tell all the sickest jokes

‘Cause you’re slow to fix something and throw a hit

When you spoke your dribble you didn’t poke a thing

Here’s the code for spitting, I owe you this

So start kicking multis, maximal visible syllables

Triple it up so you’re not making lyricals despicable

And don’t spray your typical shit. Pitiful.

 

I piss on fools as their churning out lyrics

Burning your shit quick, it’s not worth the business

You couldn’t earn a pittance, my verbals will win this

‘cause each verse I word and sermon I finish

Is certain to be the work of a genius, and see’s the

Creatures that beef and seem to wanna be eaten

Honestly, you wannabes don’t rap with seamless

Precision, each piece I’ve written weaves the

Needle and glistens with the will of my finger

That builds on the syllables, I’m filling the minutes

Drilling the kids in how to kill it at spitting

With each innings spilling my opinion

As I mind’s thinking, there are no eyes blinking

Wait… sorry I don’t fight women

You’re a wife cooking, better off in a nice kitchen

You’re prides in this, I’m not kidding.