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View Full Version : Swordplay (It's the Sickness, It's Spitless)


SHEEPISH LORD OF CHAOS
02-25-2009, 12:42 AM
Write cha mic off a free flowing cliff of danger
There’s no pain in dying in the depths of yourself/
Didn’t cha see how fast the speed of dark moves
If I loose my groove I’m just a man who isn’t smooth/
Trying to prove yourself the bladed aced up cascade fasten faded tip hair cut
Ripper nicknamed by his peers “Chaos” didn’t cha see the odds/
20 to 1 hold the gun shoot cha son by the stunts
You pulled wit no arrogance wit relative intelligence/
So street livers be beef when it’s quivering on a hot stove
Chose the darts that arose from concrete like a rose that grew/
Project stew stoned off the face chase dates, rip kits
Spit in whips flip up the beats, watch sounds flare/
Solar sunshine cannot glare wit the tints at high velocity
Spit cha bars, brutalize the track wit recorded tactics/
Match wits, bruise fists, words are just spiritual means
To cleaning clocks without blood being shed just pride being bled/
Writing drunkenly, stumbling into word play wit a sober stay
You cannot sway a poet from his dismay, decrypted way/

Swordplay be infamous all over you on some twisted metal shit
Spit a full clip verbally vicious never mortally sickles’….
Didn’t cha get the memo this is the sickness…its spit-less

Pack the pen in my backpack, knapsack
Notebook bound ripping around a solar cycle, holding words like a rifle/
My caliber be pole that never positions itself until the times right
Fighting flies, diving knives, dripping blood from the dagger/
Badger wager holding wisdom’s wig wit a fig that was Newton
Choke off air from the lungs, we back in simpler times/
Simon Templar rhyme embalm my mind is gone
Check the chalk they’d tried to trace me on/
Authoring notices that novices trying copy unsuccessfully
They couldn’t connect me even if they had bad reception and worst off bad instructions/
Driven dead waver not yet a savior my hero tactics be black fists wit fiery grips
Split cha lips, leave you so bruised these P.C. cats get so confused/
Doom the street, pissed in the meat your raps are your own defeat
Jones wit bones smoke they thrones even when swords is drawn/
Just cycle up the minds I rifle cuts wit slices only pizzerias’ can do
Didn’t cha know “Chaos” be brutal even when it’s not crucial/

Swordplay be infamous all over you on some twisted metal shit
Spit a full clip verbally vicious never mortally sickles’….
Didn’t cha get the memo this is the sickness…its spit-less

THE MASON
02-25-2009, 10:30 AM
Sheep you one of the dopest

i never know where to end some lines, its dope like that, and there are always internal rhymes in each line too

probably one of the most unique styles i have seen, this was a dope piece to highlight it

Peace

irongodchamber
03-02-2009, 10:08 AM
Sheep coming thru with HEAT as always
Peace

J.T.S.
03-02-2009, 01:56 PM
Pack the pen in my backpack, knapsack
Notebook bound ripping around a solar cycle, holding words like a rifle/
My caliber be pole that never positions itself until the times right
Fighting flies, diving knives, dripping blood from the dagger/


nice