LYRICAL BRASS KNUCKLES

I predicted past the first day that this gat would burst,

and lyricist would commit suicide for just half a verse,

I'm fuckin' up you kids like priests of the Catholic church,

and I ain't doin' collabs unless I can hear you rap it first,

walk up in a cypher screamin' "freestyle wack alert",

look at my rhymes and see that even in the past it works,

I'm throwin' emcees down deep into the grass and dirt,

like a fan in Atlanta stadiums wearin' proud Panther shirts,

"oh I'm a middle class teenager, emo, I slash, it hurts",

nobody gives a fuck you bitch, and yes I have to curse,

get ready for the massacre, yeah you better grab a nurse,

when I hear today's rap I should drive the blackest hearse,

at the funeral for hip-hop, and before the cops go,

I should shoot up the mainstream, of course I rock shows,

but I sport a Glock and live in an extortion box though,

like Great the King Slayer I got unorthodox flows, yo

 

Hypocrite critics in turn point fingers, their ass chuckles,

cynics and little interns and niggas sport brass knuckles,

at the ready if you have try to criticize their lyrics,

politicians spit it cynical, good riddens, y'all hear it?

 

I got the cocked Glocks aimed at the hot block top shots,

corrupt cops, buckshots, much props, I lock spots,

murdered at a bus stop, y'all bust shots and pop rocks,

I think the fuck not, look at your mug shot, I got stopped,

by the fact that hip-hop's hypocritical, I hate it hard,

I pack a piece of paper, pennin' poems as I pray to God,

Peter Piper couldn't pick a bone, y'all are bustin' slugs,

so prick just put this in your pipe, and pull the fuckin' plug,

y'all are tough and rough and love it, I hate rugged thugs,

they murdered my friend's father, faggots, hustlin' drugs,

duckin' Feds, touchin' bread, guzzlin' jugs, jugglin' jobs,

runnin' Lugz, stuck with bugs from undercover cops,

I ain't got a fuckin' bead, somethin' said to mug and rob,

maybe it's the racist hatred traits, y'all suck and slob,

the flows are crazy insane, I got those spasmatic kinds,

Illmatic times,I'm placin' y'all with multi-syllabic rhymes

 

Hypocrite critics in turn point fingers, their ass chuckles,

cynics and little interns and niggas sport brass knuckles,

at the ready if you have try to criticize their lyrics,

politicians spit it cynical, good riddens, y'all hear it?

 

The flows are crazy insane, I got those spasmatic kinds,

Illmatic times, I'm placin' y'all with multi-syllabic rhymes,

I pack and blast the nine, my life is horrible and asinine,

my quotes pick me up more green than an addict's line,

you and your man are not dope, even wack combined,

yeah I'm criticizing and dissin', that's how rap's designed,

y'all got the dumbest cred, with a voice like Pumpkinhead,

y'all act like you're hard, and end up so stumped instead,

underground don't dumb it down, kill for lumps of bread,

music's a race, in in this shit I guess we'll come ahead,

I drop shit, and it's hot with, the flows cream as crop picks,

yeah bitch you laced the base, I can tell your pot's thick,

gettin' pissy drunk, pissin' up a storm, it comes around,

I'd never dumb it down, the lightning and thunder pounds,

across the underground, listen when the trumpet sounds,

see you're dead before you see my face, my stomach growls

 

Hypocrite critics in turn point fingers, their ass chuckles,

cynics and little interns and niggas sport brass knuckles,

at the ready if you have try to criticize their lyrics,

politicians spit it cynical, good riddens, y'all hear it?