In character you rhyme, nice job. Magic isn't real though, just a bunch of gob. Look at me being confusing, it's what I do. My characters stay in role plays, they are a superior few.
The linguistical poison in my arsenal has dropped the best on their knees A thousand times more potent, continuously stinging like killer bees It makes the obsidian night in the sky above break their bodies and watches them bleed Watching another case of homicidal murder on this earth is always pleasing to me. When i take the wheel of this battle, i always control like the driver I should have my own reality show, called 'sole' Survivor Because you guys don't know a verse, i have the weapons that beg to feed. Because I'll rip you apart, and your soul is what i need.
Why so gory, tis all in good fun. Allow me to clear the obsidian night, with the sun. You and your murders, I'm calliing it creepy. and now you want to be alone, I bet you're sleepy? Take a nap, you could use it. Here, go to a nice hotel, take this bit. You want souls, you are a mad little sucker. So all I gotta say is... Suck my ASARI MOTHERBUCKER!
An 'Asari'? *Pfft*, there's no need to be rude The rhymes that are being said are ruining the mood This crude dude in the hood had no successful wish to pass Because at the end of the day, imma kicking mo ass! People say that rap is dead, i'm here to resurrect me To discreet ye is nothing out of the ordinary of the fifth meed Oh wait, what am i talking about. I'm getting out of rhyme Of the fantasy roleplayer that will beat you everytime.
I've already said it once and I'll say it again These white people don't know how to use a pen For their raps They're just spittin' out crap While I'm spittin' out money 'Cause I'm spittin' out crack I know you gonna try and back to refute me But once I'm done here You'll be like "Damn my rhymes are stupid" I see you in my hood I'll pop the glock Get you six feet deep Right under a rock You know my rhymes are hot But I serve them cold Like the ice I wear on my wrist And I won't hesitate to put on my fist To punch a cracka Or a n***a too I'm comin all directions right out of the blue I'd keep spittin fire But your lyrical situation is dire So I figure it'll lay down to die But not before I b***h slap yo rhymes into the sky
As far as being a stereotype goes, you're kinda terrible. You have like... 2 rhymes in your lyrical hill. It's a pain to read, it's just a tattered blind across the window of your sad little mind. You keep bringing in race, what a sad little fool. I bet you think your drugs and being in the hood make you cool. You should be ashamed, thinking these things mattered. I hope you run into a gangster with a bat and get battered.
Oh look! Everybody give him a hand! Because you won't hear him rapping again It seems all he can do is diss my rhymes But I guarantee you he can't drop 23 lines on the dime I tried to read what you wrote, but I stopped at tattered Then I started again and almost died when you said the hustle didn't matter I'll defecate on your rap Just like I put a c in front of it because it's only crap I little boy like you has no business in my game It's for grown men So you gonna feel man-sized pain You wanna talk about my flow, how it doesn't rhyme? Your ass tried to put together terrible and hill Then it looks like the rest of the lines were put there 'cause there was empty space to fill (By the way, that's how you make a rhyme with hill) I wanna keep going, until you raps are killed But you make me wanna throw up So waitress, could you please bring the bill?
Much better, less self-promoting junk. Maybe someday you'll learn how to not spout funk. Still a bit rude, but that's to be expected, I'd at least like the way I speak to be respected. You still can't seem to make lines rhyme proper. So... maybe think it out, uhm... copper? In case you couldn't tell that was just a joke. So... try to have some damn fun, before you break the yolk.
Your raps They're deteriorating Getting shorter and less complex But for me after every drop I go on to the next This one's gonna be shorter because I have business to attend to But don't think that means this lyrical beatdown I will spare you Now come here close and listen to me I rapped like you before I was three I don't even know what you're trying to say 'Spout funk?' 'Break the yolk?' I can't believe this You're going up in smoke A worthy competitor I thought you were But this motherbucker He's becoming absurd I beg you stop before you hurt a man I already hid the women and children 'Cause your raps were to bad So once again, I bid you adieu And maybe next time you'll listen to my truth
Le sigh, yes I said that out loud. You are oblivious to this, you are too damn proud. You can't even accept that this ain't a competition. So I'll just make yet another rendition, of this statement I'm saying about the epic game we are playing What's wrong with my saying, bro? Too complex for you simple intelligence, "yo?" I only seek to entertain, with happy rhymes. I wish to make things fun, like simpler times. Yet here you are acting all big and tough. Your words are mad, crude, and rough. Now if you don't mind I'll go rescue those children and women. Cuz you've scared the poor things, look, hiding in linen!
The women and children? They were scared by you Read the first three lines And they hightailed it out I just guess you don't Know what real rap is about I keep it core But your rhymes make me snore You also think I'm gruff Calling me rough You don't wanna see All my tough, rough, buff stuff I have to go bed So I'll quit while I'm ahead Doctor! This man is quite sick! Give him some meds!
Absolutely one might question my skill But I'll still be going in for the kill only by sheer will and love for the thrill Everyone bows down to the king Ill take all the needy ponies under my wing I might be a philanthropist But if you cross me, you're on the blacklist.
Let me show you around of what's about to go down You see, this Aussie is the greatest motivator around Crimson is my name and kicking your ass is my game My rhymes hit you harder then the grill of a train Oh, look at this here, another excuse Of a passenger that's gonna get thrown of this train's caboose I have slain many hunters with my lyrics alone Stay out of the way, because there is only one king on the throne
Silence always has the final word, friend. Typing widdly rhymes will only fry your eyes, And you forgot your boarding pass. (sounds better in french.)
Hey guys, can't we just all be friends? I cannot believe a thread would make this end. When you came to the site you know, you had such a fright, and the people that you're battling with these raps they are prattling, they helped you on your way. You'll be alright, they all did say. So look down at your feet, continue rapping that beat, but please, don't you mishear, remember who got you here. (I'm terrible at this.)
I've been Nicknamed Loki, Nordic God of manipulation. So what i've got hated for a small commoton? Friendship saves the day, Anyway, in the end. I can bash my friends freelly at this game, they'll understand. I'm getting tired of this *Squeee~* I'm off to the walrus pit. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXDqyTyel8c (WARNING: Violence, Walruses, Sexual references. Content not suitable for audience under age of 16 minimum. Don't tell me i haven't warned you, and that the age of 16 may not be the same reference in other countries.)
Hey, my name is Proxy! And I'm... good at being boxy? Also, I can't rap for my life, Maybe that's why I have a knife!
