1 Allusion =/= referential humor
Here to end rumors
cut the bullshit out like tumors
Walt Whitman with the plume
Journalist to my tomb
The old egyptians
used to see my likeness in the moon
So they built up a sphinx
as an appeasement
But I ain't pleased yet
I won't be satisfied
Till I see false poets
Hangin from weaves by they necks

misdiagnosed generosity interpreted as psychotic monstrosity
misinterpretations by insulated lamens can lead you to be deemed satan
comply or its swift, there may be a "bye bye" but its not genuine nor you or i
tye dye is the same as neck ties
as long as its partitioned, separate intuitions will be shackled by inhibitions
don't think out the box not enough clock so put a sock
init
get broken down but if no one builds you back up then what the fuck good luck
theres no such thing
karma is manufactured whether you believe in it or not
it dictates your pathway as much as a sign that reads stop
pop goes the weasles champange bottle
fondling models that coddle zero moral fiber
hope to god there is no afterlife because if any of "his" manuscript proves true
then it's no different than the current servitude

He is a madman i say!
He boast and rambles for days
But stays true to his way
Of being batsh*t insane,
But nay, Crazy he's not
He just got dropped by his pops
And as that baby rolled down
He bashed his head on a fence
With only stupidity left
He starting making mix tapes
And started calling himself 'Sparky'
Not realising it's a dog's name

Black sheep to his hay
unbeknownst he's already fallen prey
at least this madmen can say
he uses some grammar
never starting making anything
except his own standards
Never falling because of pops unorthodox
though he recently did get dropped
So yes, it just me and stupidity left
the two of us feeling rather adept
left with a canine's bark
and a leash around my neck

Yall mother****ers talk like your dick is the mic,
And you cruisin round like you still got train wheels on your bike
I bet you never battled a bitch reppin skulls,
and I bet you gonna suck these metaphorical balls,
Cuz I got bones in my bedroom- ask my friends, I really do-
And the internal fury of a three-quarters Jew
Your decay is my pleasure since your dick couldn't measure
so call your accountant to straighten your ledger,
Your words are in debt though your tongue aint even wet,
And I stand on my own, because females aint worth the bet
Everyone sees a white girl swathed in black,
and that's how I get them by their toddler balls and sack,
say hello to the mistress with the parchment and the quill,
cuz this victorian bitch bout to crush a rapper's will.
Teach you a thing or two bout rhyming and some grammar,
because all you ****ers be like 90's MC Hammer,
I been rappin since childhood and get better with age,
and if you got somethin to say... see you on the ****in stage.


No offense. =p

Y'all talk ratchet, but y'all ain't happenin
Try droppin my essence
I'll leave your whole body plastered
Watch this, I'll show you pupils your master
Try studyin accounting, stick to jockin a pencil
I'm the sage of Chelsea, Costello won't step to me
I'm servin grown men, cookin the books with no recipe
I'm mayhem and treachery
Repelling vikings and rockin dope accessories
Chowin down on you tearful clowns
Y'all ain't nothin but sesames

Y'all keep goin, keep goin like y'all knowin somethin
Keep it goin sucka
I might letcha know better
Throwin those letters
I might torch a few devils
With a 5 oclock stubble
And a handful of the bottle
Yeah i **** talk before battles
Get it on tape before it hits the satellites

Its almost funny to see you guys all talking sh.it,
You sound old and decrepit, like you need a walking stick,
Do me a favour mate..its boring quit...Put a cork in it,
Cos its all skew whiff, like steven hawkin's hips.
Plus incase you didn't notice, this is a rap thread!
So you trying to spit poetry just makes you look like a crack head.
That said, u did spend last night in some chaps bed, till your ass bled.
Now you're too tired to write something good so you post that crap instead.

U wot m8??
You can get fought m8
Such a fruit I don't think you could beat your cock str8
You's a thot eh
Couldn't even get a sedond thought m8
I might break you down and send you to your folks in a cr8
Rhymes not gr8 I run this **** like f8
Your moms bout fell out what I did to her heart r8
Stop playin I'm IT like I been hangin round sewer gr8s
Where I kick back relax sip yer blood and rumin8

The funniest thing about you is you actually believe your hype,
But that chat stank of sh.it like your an ass that needs a wipe.
Mate just leave the mike, there's really no need to fight,
My lyrics cut you deep, you weep then out bleeds your life.
Then your poets soul will be free to float like leaves in flight,
Please tonight just see the light, cos you'll never quite reach the heights,
You think you're a superhero but you're just a geek in tights.
And what's with all the 8's div?
Did you get inspiration from playing with your mate's kids?
You know, That game you played while they were sedated ?
Its bait you did, now it's too late to fib,
This chat will leave you breathless, each line's a blow that breaks ya ribs.
You asphyxiated, and as a result your dick deflated,
But you never discriminated, even at times when the chick's related.
I picture you in a jazz club layin prose with fingers clicking,
Either that or in a dungeon with your bro's and sphincters ripping,
Chatting that sh.it, god knows you think you're spitting,
But your flows just stink, you're tripping