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SHEEPISH LORD OF CHAOS
10-17-2007, 12:53 PM
Buck 50, spit knives outta my mouth
Like darts outta my hand check my glands/
I expand my wings like rodan
Explode on emcees when I rhyme over a beat/
Read me loud and clear, I donít need to veer
I steer my lines straight and narrow/
Now you emcees got cancer
And are in need of my bone marrow/
How about cha raid a scarecrow cuz my flow
Isnít all smoke and mirrors like your is/
Just cuz I donít got kids doesnít mean I ainít got shit to loose
Iíll bruise you suckers and leave ya all bloody up
Like you just ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich full of smuckers/
I donít have to duck you losers I just bruise ya when Iím cruising
In my vehicle spitting flows, getting all the hoes, showing n proving
While yall losers are losing all yall platinum and gold/
You still canít test the flow, ya gold is bronze
My rhymes are ionized wit atmospheric pressure systems/
Can you get wit the hurricane lyrics coming through?
Running the gantlet, making yall look mad animatronics/
Mechanical wit flows and lyrics, technical wit cha techniques and concepts
Now you think youíre advanced wit cha lyrics cuz you got better gimmicks/
I can mimic you sucker emcees without using facial features
Optional contusions become confusion Confucius how every you put it/
Flood minds wit parables within paragraphs after the math I grab the cash
Crop the optical illusions on the dark side of the moon is disputed evidence
Down to your recruitment tactics thinking itís all about Techno Graphics/