The Survivor's Scroll
Micatastrophe
| Name: MicP.r.o.f.i.t.
From: CHICAGO,ILL-NOISE
E-Mail: www.forty6zoner
April 30, 1998 at 15:35:07 (EDT)
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yO,i been waitin awhile to drop this verse
last battle flawless victory hit Realess up the worse/
Now i'm first in every battle rattlin niggas til they complain/
but no blood,no foul when you enter chicago street war games/
see the aim is to get my flag and it stand right behind me/
so u gotta go thru me and i been waitin on you to try me/
got my siamese twin the point 4-fin that make a backbend/
relieve ya soul from ya limbs so ain't no threat of revenge/
brain cells singed from the heat i radiate like fire/
sheer desire the reason why i elevate noticeably higher/
then past performers,destroy in any order you bring it/
pride ya better leave outside cuza nigga like me ah g it/
add it to my own/ like highlander my power zone increase after i feast on these nas wannabees and jay-z clones/
even Wu gotta a few wannabee killahs/but still a Profit like me predict ya demise moments after i getcha/
my pressure hitya,with the force of enlightened gravity/
ya step hapharzardly cuz ya fear anotha verse from "Prof"on this Micatastrophy,/
now i'm askin "g",who really wanna bring the real/
C.I.N.E. (CommunicatinIll-NaturedExperiences)yawh nigga chill
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Name: MicP.r.o.f.i.t.
From: CHICAGO,ILL-NOISE
E-Mail: www.forty6zoner
April 29, 1998 at 18:20:13 (EDT)
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I got no beef with nobody, but my hobby is
getting wild/
straight buck could give a fuck if you man
woman or child/
Chi-style flow thru my veins spilling over when cut/
so DeePhunk u fucked up,i coming at u now nigga what?/
this ain't a fight, more like a warning to ya heart/
since i started it i'ma spark some mo friction til you depart/
the fuck off the scene vaporize water to steam/
wet dream i'm givin ya from my verbal violent machine--gun,spun ya faggot ass now you passin on battles/
voted 4u just ta getacha add one mo win just ta subtract 2/
the first one you got from Profit and now this one/
knowin u gonna react, name state it so don't contradict dun/
the Son of the Chi,to fly for time to put its hands on/
enhancing my legend for stories to tell when the fans come/
to see me catch wreck,reflect on pass brushes with bustas/
weak muthafuckas from strongisle claiming they wanna touch us/
who bring the ruckas?worse then helta skelta i betcha/ my lyrics disectya
have u running cuz you ah verbal foreign defector yo style lessor
while i'm above-average/verbally savage
next challenga cuz me winning this battle is automatic. |
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY (home of the legends)
E-Mail: deephunk
April 28, 1998 at 21:08:34 (EDT)
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Pop quiz hot shot, who's the nicest on the block?
The D to the double E stopped by to rock the spot
The nigga with the dark golden brown complexion
Sinners betta count your blessings and better yet, you all should use discretion
Before you try to judge me like Judy
BBD-style niggaz try to drop the Poison thinkin' they can Do Me
Invulnerable to petty rhymes dun,
I let my verses fly like time and you know I'm definitely havin' fun
I suggest you spend less time tryin' to fight me
And spend more time workin' on your shit to make it tight B.,
And even after that you still couldn't be as nice as this
You betta catch a shootin' star and make a fuckin' wish
Stop tryin' to jerk me cuz I don't practice masturbation
I keep a mic in my pocket for emergency situations. |
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Name: MicProfit
From: chicago,ill-noise
E-Mail: www.forty6zoner@html
April 28, 1998 at 13:35:45 (EDT)
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the profit don't need no introduction/
my souls function is the production of lyrics that the crowd feeling a lil' something/
i'm muffing the opposition on a mission to make the grade/
style laid solid as 4s, automatic fire engaged/
in verbal war my aura soars to astronomical/
comical-hollywood made thugs keep me in a bombable frame of mind/
lyrics designed to shine,1 of the realest from the chitown mob you'll ever find/
so who wanna front? drama we kick it off like punts, smoking blunts defense the 46zone, no need for stunts/
so while these faggot niggas bunt i'm swing hard to go yard/ steez scarred screaming for aid since you step to my squad/mic lodged in ya throat so nobody can hear the cries/Profit ruling Mic Catastrophes dotting any challenga like small i's.
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY (take us seriously)
E-Mail: deephunk
April 27, 1998 at 16:03:26 (EDT)
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Words hit hard as soon as they touch the looseleaf,
Packin' powerful punches leavin' men with loose teeth,
Known to make wax climax when I'm in sex mode,
Put my shit in your tape deck and watch it ex-plode
Bet against Dee, you'll never get that money back,
Keep you hungry for more like you smoked a 20-sack,
Damn I'm nice! Well, at least that's what my friends say,
Most other rappers got more jokes than the WB on Wednesdays
Battles get me amped like speakers, and I love it when I get support like ankles when I lace ya'll like sneakers,
Flow like liquid but deliver the soild way,
Every time I rip it's declared a national holiday,
So think long and hard before you attempt to attack me,
Cuz chances are I'll retaliate and get all in your face like acne.
Peace to Techniques (reppin' LIU) and XXX just because he's nice and from Strong Isle. PEACE. -dee ph!*upstarts
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 26, 1998 at 18:10:05 (EDT)
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THE DREAM.
The third world militias transposed from christian scriptures/now overdosed illegal mixtures with disposed scrolls and fixtures/manifolded narcotics never pictured/countless psychotic niggas drinking elixers/all figgured to be addicts/with narked mavericks strikeback with automatic tactics,leaving shots in bloody fabric/out of town faggots bag-quick,and manage to regroup/16 clips,reloaded guns shoot and hit/all empires execute type-sick/live-wires on weak troops/looking cute,exhibit fire,stuck-up in lex coups/fixed while thugs on stoops chasing loot predict/reading verses from the bible/little kids snatch purses for survival/fathers in denial,ride behind hearses/as trial disperses of barter and trade/the harder to get paid,has plots being made,bought,and filled/niggas get raw dealed and killed/for real,a tight situo..,assasins with pistols,all official/marked missles issued to hit you/while shots blew,and ripped through your flesh tissue/burnt grissle,and venue/early dismissal for revenue/the tension of life,leads to kamikazied sacrifice/and then deviced for regrets/and in the dark of night,I broke into a cold sweat/feeling wet from mo and christened/enemy divisions moved into position,while champagne was pissing out my vein/the commision,claimed my name and fame was forwarned/not to last long/all of a sudden the storm hit my forcast/Im moving past with gunblasts/caught up in the backdraft,falling fast/to the next mans staff/aiming to lace-me,like cagney,and when they bagged-me/I woke-up with a GRAMMY.
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 25, 1998 at 15:06:13 (EDT)
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| Listen to the style that i bring now/if you dont understand me thing i will show you how/all i bring is the real hip hop/sweepin up the room with my lyrical mop/bringin it real while listening to my soul/I stay away from drugs and ya gets no respect if you smoke a bowl/Im not down with that/as a matter of fact/like i said in a last rhyme, its just another thing to hold us back/puff aint playin anybody but him self/he cant see anything but wealth/but Scooter is here to save hip hop/bring the raw beats and stay away from the pop/cause positive thoughts and vibes are the only way/ but dont be a puss stand up for what you feel and say/cause if i keep going the way im flowing/motherfuckers I'll be showing my style to you/I diss ya because i dont believe in the wackness you do/you want to turn me off but for some reason you like it when Scooter comes through/addicted to my lyrcial gift/you like the way if gives you a lift/you like the way if make you feel inside/cause its nothing but hip hop, so if ya wack ya best go hide |
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Name: Dezert Demon
From: Hell
E-Mail:
April 25, 1998 at 00:46:02 (EDT)
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Politics-N-bullshit be runnin this nation/cloudin my vision of free conversation/Incarceration cuz there'z corruption in this legal system/tha Devil iz tha judge sendin us 2 prison/Listen 2 tha doctaz decidin who's insane/claimin they know what'z wrong wit our brain/Fuck that, our livez don't belong in tha courtz/where tha man in white 3-piece sheetz deportz/our ass 2 a cell 2 dwell in Hell/wit no pussy, no freedom, no right 2 yell/a lawyer wit a Bible controllin our fate/our soulz in his hand az he masturbatez/2 late, now we tha sperm in diseased blood streamz/drownin in tha garglez of attempted screamz/Teamz of stoned killaz finga tha murdera/thinkin they God az they chant tha wordz of a/ancient book like a crook wit moralz/thought control leadz 2 bloody quarrelz/and unholy warz, bullet holez and crosses/burning books, dead priestz and slain bosses/Religious fanatics cry peace but bring static/wit automatic techs then pray they won't panic/Tragic resultz insult cultz and clickz/cuz thoze wit bigga beliefs attack wit bigga stickz/Tickz of tha clock iz tha sound of our doom/they'd jail us all if they had tha room . . .
Scooter, beef iz squashed, kid. Nuff respect. |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 24, 1998 at 18:21:53 (EDT)
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Well I might blow up but I wont go pop
when I grab the mic I dont ever stop
not even when the crowd is on my side
and wack Djs and Emcees run and hide
I dont have Beef with you Dezert Demon
and you can take the way I use the word nigga anyway you wont but i have had respect for every race since i was semen
theres no reason to get upset
you lost a few battles and all the sudden im the threat
Im just here to rhyme and express my
style
to chat with derelict buy some of commons clothes and read ANonymous rhymes for a while
Im not here to fight with you
dont vote for me if you dont like what i say and do
but saying im just a white boy show no respect at all
All that matters is who stands tall
so before you shoot off ya mouth about a battle again
go read about me in the survivors scroll and im sure that i will win
But before this gets out of hand
listen to the one called KRS ONE from the BDP band
and give me relief squash all beef don't let these arguments destroy us |
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Name: jnucklez
From: Brooklyn
E-Mail: jnucklez
April 24, 1998 at 15:26:10 (EDT)
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My love stand strong for wisdom an understanding/the black child/the futures hope will be demanding/like standards i'm setting with my intelect/
the 85% that lack knowledge couldn't face the true facts/either dumb def or blind/trying to refind there mind/lost in time/following the devil from behind/but i'm a stand up and show my true 72/
head of my cipher you couldn't hypnotize if you blew/erase your thoughts and let my mental do damage/shit that i contain/ will leave your physical in badage/you held at gunpoint like a hostage to a terrorist/there's no future hope/if the black child takes a rest/so take in hand
of what i speak of the original man/we the key to life/god started it's time to make a stand/create demands and compose barriers around the universe/cause were the foundation
that U.N.I will verse.
It's your life god/we got to grow wise/and be devine
Word up peace! |
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Name: XXX
From: Strong Island
E-Mail: ms104
April 23, 1998 at 18:58:54 (EDT)
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| Don't sweat the technique/You can't speak/Faggot nigga took it too many times up the ass cheek/Your shit is weak/You're up a creak without a paddle/You can't battle/I'll leave your ass cryin like a baby without it's rattle/Bitch, you must know by now I bring the pain/ I slam like Sean Kemp, niggaz can't stop the rain/It's insane MC's must get slain/Like Starang,I'll hang that ass like a picture frame/My flow is mad nice when I cause ruckus like Sean Price/Fuck fear and respect, nigga you worship me like Christ/Or get sliced, as my words be mad spiritual/By now you know the ritual/I can't be touched, I'm metaphysical/I drop knowledge like Dr. King/Niggaz won't step inside the ring/And catch lyrical abrasions from this microphone fiend/I'm carvin my lyrical switch-blade for ya bitch-made/Your style is big willy, while mine is mac-milli/Don't be silly/ My shit's thorough and complete/While your's is obsolete/You're better off being indiscrete/Can't take the heat?/Can't wait to take a leak?/Nigga ya shittin ya drawers takin up the ass on all fours/Ya got too many flaws so we'll have to take a pause...of silence: Rest In Peace |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 23, 1998 at 10:28:32 (EDT)
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| A sour drug deal,led to a steal shoot-out in a park/The clip sparked a five-year-old in his heart/He was at the start of his life,but the price wasn't enough/Rough yells sound tough from an apartment/To those that dwell at the market,didn't seem to matter/Another women being battered by her lover/Kids watch their mother getting beaten/This treatment leaving her scared,life's hard with no assistance,including the persistent attacks/Ungiven slack,so much on her back/So on the last hour she climbed into the shower trying to forget/Life's full of regrets,with a Gillette she slit her wrists/But the twist,was she was alive to see,her man come in and kill the family/Death before dying-eyes,hed his mouth-wide,placed the gun inside,then committed suicide/Inorder to escape trial/Meanwhile,another frail juvenile was thrown on the third-rail/Cause he failed to give-up his apparel/Fell victim to the barrel,another broken-arrow/Stickup-sons, bums with change-cups,getting stuck/It's fucked-up when reality erupts,policies corrupt for money washed-up/It all seems absolute through weed and liquor/the quicker our roots keep getting sicker,destroying scriptures that once held a foundation/Our whole-nation needs salvation/A million-grave-march be our destination/Modern-day-slaves trapped in a ghetto-plantation/With no escape/So peep the mindstate,before it's to late/And we all fall victim to fate. |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 22, 1998 at 18:13:45 (EDT)
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Word on my life,SLO-MO you want to start this,rap-artist,quick to draw blood marksman/
Rap-arson,burning your squadron with bombardments from the noggin/
Hogging up your session,my mouth-piece the weapon,eyesight the infrared-detection/
In your direction,I start whetting,can you stand the rain/
Leaving chest-pains from trying to catch my game,stay in your lane/
While I switch up speed and change-range,rip you from your frame/
Faggot-nigga exorcism/
There's no need for the display of feminism,so stop your bitching/
I never considered your compositions as competition/
I'm here to put you out of commission,and back into your position/
Shitting where you be eating,and wondering why you caught such a beating/
Maybe it's because you're not nice enough to suffice against I/
Gambling with your life about to roll snake-eyes/
Nice try,better luck next-time/
With your half-ass-rhymes,and weak-punch-lines,thinking your fucking with mines/
Really,Come on par/
I'll take your idols and icons,turn them into porn-stars,cause on the Mic,I'm fucking them too hard/
Your whole styles pussy wet/
So when I'm done stroking,bet you'll be chain-smoking cigarettes/
You ain't posing no threat,so shut the fuck up/
And if you got it,then bring it nigga,what up.
(To those that showed me love, Thank You.)
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Name: Techniques
From: Q-Boro
E-Mail:
April 22, 1998 at 12:44:04 (EDT)
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i rhyme with more guerrilla warfare than vietnam,
shoot an anorexic in camouflage and fog,
my verbal frequencies are formatted analog,
to keep my enemies from breaking all communi-coms,
i spit bombs, blowing spots, sounding alarms,
dismembering arms, commanders in charge notify moms,
fill out toe tags, stuff black bags, wave their whit flags,
hall ass, take the next flight, catch jet lag,
before your next verbal mission, petition no jurisdiction,
no draft, parents permission, to enter rhyme competition... |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 22, 1998 at 03:33:57 (EDT)
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Fuck occupation-chasing,the lost-generations new-mathematics,consist of static from babies born crack-addicts/Hearing automatic lullabies supply tragic-nights full of sporadic-sights/Street-fights and drug-wars ignite at corner-stores for riches/Dumb-bitches giving notions, little-niggas keep boasting,causing a commotion/Expecting-mothers shooting-potion,taking no caution, self-made-abortion/Distortion from broke-T.V.-screens/Young-teens with shattered-dreams of cream living repeat-scenes from the same episode/
Minds corrode,in the day shots-explode from glocks on rooftops/And down the block white-rocks get chopped in the corner-lab/ Little-kids supplied by Arabs/Outside a rapist grabs another queen/Within her hidden screams,she sees the gleam of a knife/With one strike he takes her life/ With a smile he makes his escape,a raped-child left at her wake/Alleys filled with police-tape,their filed reports escalate/Due to the rate of young-ones stun by guns while chasing-funds/The ghetto-essence is finally conveyed/ Death-sentenced today,the presence of innocence is being sent away/For a crime not committed,who knows who did it/Allowed no appeal,truth not revealed,life's real on this everyday battlefield.
(FATE-PART-1-to-be-continued)
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Name: ZEXEC
From: NY.TN
E-Mail: Spike40
April 21, 1998 at 16:09:44 (EDT)
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No mistakes/No retakes/No timeouts/
No breaks/ I'm rippin heads causin headaches/
From da turbulance of each line/Redefine
-all ya tactics/check da stats,
shi! is mad hectic/on da stompin grounds/
wit pounds--of plastics/so save da dramatics/Zex is highly explosive/so whats da motive/while I slit throats wit pieces of mic melt/cause whatchu felt/
was 40 thieves wit black belts/
dem raw niggas/dem real niggas wit real triggas/ Always loaded/bare chested n coated/who live n breathe what I believe/
Strictly TIGHT like 30 year nuts n bolted
down on any stage/armed wit grenades/
blow up like da third letta/ 4 times to da whateva power - try ta catch da smoke/but as soon as u git dare-its all clear.CHOKE!
I'm nat kid ruff enough ta rip ropes/
rape da dog shi! outa ryhmes/tryta cope/
i'm gittin mines like bogota got dope/
headz git faded from dees cuts/
bitches pucka-up/for 50 imprints uf black knucks/Shi! hot like 200 degrees/an you like cool me off please/please/
Ma tension blood thirsty for da committed/
40 dead emcees - tell.me who did it/
Zexec in da place settin tempo/
lettin go da strees like big bono/
proposed a toast to da mic gods, heres to da pretenders/wanna be contenders/
who came n got grenaded/first rated/
wit da black fist of da last parlament/
cold bandit/can you handle it. |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 21, 1998 at 02:19:43 (EDT)
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INTOXICATED, POURING RHYMES FOR MY PEOPLE LEFT BEHIND/
REPPING MINE WITHIN CYPHERS THE GOD STAYS DIVINE/
SPITTING LINE AFTER LINE, HUNDREDS PER SECOND/
BURNING TRACK RECORDS WITH NO PROTECTION/
I GOT THAT JOHN BLAZE SHIT, NO QUESTION/
WORDS SPOKEN WITH LOGIC, ROCKED OVER FIBER OPTICS/
RAP NIGGAS LACK TOPICS AND TRADED IN SKILLS FOR MAKING PROFITS/
REDRUM SIPPING, FLIP IT AND INVISION THE SHIT IM SPITTING/
18 BAR PRECISION WHEN IM SHITTING ON COMPETITION/
CALLING BLUFFS LIKE 917, WHAT THE FUCK/
I GOT THE MEDICINE LIKE EDISON, I'LL LIGHT YOU UP/
I SLASH PAST PARAGRAPHS SO FAST YOU CATCH WHIPLASH/
LEARN THE MATH QUICK, THINKING YOUR LIVE, I 86 YOUR WEAK SHIT/
FUCKING WITH THIS LYRASISTS EQUIVALENCE OF DOMINANT INTELLIGENCE/
LYRICS HIT 36 EDIFICE, SP 12 SPECIALISTS/
FUCKING THIS FEATURE DEEPER WHEN PENETRATING YOUR SPEAKER/
FREAK THIS PRECISE WITH 10 DEGREES SUFFICED ON THE MIC DEVICE, IM NICE/
IF TIME IS MONEY, THEN WHATS THE PRICE OF YOUR LIFE.
(think about it)
Props go out to Elliot Ness,Dezert Demon, D.J.Scooter, and M.C. Exterminator for showing a nigga love. |
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Name: NJ AU EW EA MN
From: BALTIMORE
E-Mail: SLIMMYREAL
April 20, 1998 at 12:53:13 (EDT)
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YOUR FLOW GETS TANGLED LIKE A SICKLE CELL BLOOD STREAM,
YOU LOST YOUR DIGNITY AND SELF ESTEME FUCKING WITH NAEEM,
THE EMRALD GREEN REAL SLIMM GEMINI, ONLY IDENTIFY,
WITH THOSE EMCEES WHO RHYME FLY AND GET RECK,
WHILE YOU PLAYERS KEEP YOUR WHOES IN CHECK,
I CHECK MY MICROPHONE,
WHETHER THIS SHIT WAS WRIT OR OFF THE TOP OF MY DOME,
I MAKE YOU YOUNG EMCEES RUN HOME,
AS IF THE STREETS LIGHT JUST CAME ON,
YOU DINKY LIKE A XYLAPHONE,
SOFT LIKE STYRAFOAM,
I SPROUTED FROM THE UNDERGROUND AND I'M GONE TO THE TOP,
WHEN I HIP-HOP,
ALL EYES ON ME LIKE TUPAC,
THEN THE WORLD STOPS,
TO HEAR ME DROP MATH SCIENCE AND HISTORY,
MY MIND MOVES QUICKLY,
KICKING FLOWS IN EVERY VECENITY,
I HAVE THIS TENDECY,
TO MURDER EMCEES WHO BITE STYLES AND WASH IT DOWN WITH A GLASS OF HENESY,
I DON'T PRETEND TO BE, ANY THING I'M NOT,
BROTHERS WHO FAKE JACKS WILL GET ROCKED,
AND IN TOUGHER NEIGHBORHOODS GET SHOT,
LYRICALLY I'M RISING TO THE TOP,
ECONOMICLY I'M NOT SELLING,
TO PHAT BEATS I ATRACT,
FROM TRACK MASTERS I'M REPELLING.
PEACE TO ALL HIP-HOPPERS AND HIP-HOP FANS WHO RECOGNIZE TALENT, AND WHEN THEY FIND SOMEONE WHO IS TALENTED, THEY DON'T DICK RIDE. WU-TANG AND CANIBUS ARE NICE AS SHIT BUT GET OFF THEIR DICKS. GIVE THEM THEIR PROPS, BUY THEIR CD, AND MOVE ON TO FIND PEOPLE WHO ARE JUST AS TALENTED IF NOT MORE TALENTED. HIP-HOP IS BEATS,
RHYMES, AND LIFE. FUCK ALL THE EMCEES WHO ALBUMS SOUND LIKE A MOVIE SCRIPT. PEACE TO COMMON. NAVITE TOUNGUES WILL RISE IN '98. LOOK OUT FOR MOS DEF AND THE LAST EMPEROR. PEACE |
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Name: Ell Ness/ Non Sequitur from Left Field
From: Burlington,CT/Wake Forest
E-Mail: nichet00
April 19, 1998 at 03:30:57 (EDT)
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I’m pulling a lyrical deringer/
to damage you like Dillinger/
Cock back like Tom Beringer/
Bust more caps than a milliner/
drilling the/ Flyest villager/
Just like a town pillager/
Then on the way back I drop your rhymes in
trash cylinders/
So watch it on your Monitor I smack a Merry Mack/
I bury the wack, so hit the road like Kerouac/
While these Bad Boys front in their rented condominiums/
I take it to the stone age and rock spots like Palestinians/
My lyrics tend to dominate any and all dominions/
It’s elementary like Lithium and Actinium/
This dictation directs dunces to delve in dictionaries/
and leaves the suckers sore like a sack from Singletary/
and far from singulary/
we’re a trio/
winning Clio’s/
for the adverse adverbs we advertise to adversaries/
Any Challenger I explode just like the space shuttle/
Converted to blood puddles/ with no chance for rebuttal/
So watch as I menace and mutilate these minions masterfully/
Deranged and deviant, deter all with the deeds so dastardly/
Lyrical Mastery/ manufactured at the Coat Factory/
Fractures the faculty of any fool that follows after me/
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Name: %
From: %
E-Mail: %
April 17, 1998 at 23:44:54 (EDT)
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| % |
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Name: Mase
From: Los Angeles
E-Mail: Mase738722.
April 17, 1998 at 15:20:26 (EDT)
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| I'll leave any MC in pieces/Crush his ass with my lyrical thesis/Your rapping skills are tacky/So don't get happy/While you fake MC's playa hate/I'm fuckin your girl while yo ass masturbates/So all you fake rappers just listen here/I'm runnin this site this is a world premiere/My flows are what you vision and feel/Fuck with me and watch your blood spill/You peoples is wack I can't take it no more/You know my skill is tight so don't try to ignore/Now I'm in the limelight cause I rhyme tight/Yo ass didn't get there cause you ain't nothin but a dike/Its your fate that I must wish and keep concealed/I never playa hate but I always keep it real/ So all you fake rappers just take a seat/Cause I'm the lyrically acclaimed and I can't be beat. |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 17, 1998 at 02:03:27 (EDT)
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| (OLD SCHOOL SHIT PART 2)AS MY DOME ROAMS FREE, 360 DEGREES, SURROUNDING ME BE MC'S THAT CLAIM CASUALTIES, IN REALITY YOUR MINDSTATE HOLDS AS MUCH WEIGHT AS A CALORIE, SIMPLE FLATTERY, EVERYTIME YOU COPY MY STYLE, JUVENILE, YOUR EFFORTS ARE FUTILE, CAUSE YOU LACK THE PROFILE BLACK, AND IN FACT NO FACSIMILE IS QUITE EXACT TO MY DELIVERY ON WAX OR VINYL, HOMICIDAL THOUGHTS IN MY MIND COINCIDE AND COMBINE THAN UNWIND IN DUE TIME A NEW LEVEL CAN BE REACHED, MY INTELLECT CANT BE BREACHED BY THE TEN PERCENT, HESITENCE SHALL TAKE PRECEDENCE OVER YOUR HARD ROCK DECADENCE YOU CLAIM TO REPRESENT, PUT AN END TO YOUR FOOLISH LIES, AND TO THE CLUELESS 85, MY MISSION IS TO END YOUR INQUISITIONS, NOW LISTEN CAUSE MY INTUITION SLICES WITH PRECISION, EVERY INCISION INTO THE DARK HELPS THE LIGHT EMBARK FROM THE ABYSS, NUMEROUS MC'S LACK THIS, SO SEND THE KIDS BACK TO THE LAB FOR MORE PRACTICE. |
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Name: BRAD(cHaNcELLoR)
From: Chicago
E-Mail: B RAD13965
April 16, 1998 at 23:06:06 (EDT)
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These verses im dispersin makin wack niggas start cursin'/Im hurtin'/your whole clergin/emergin/as the greatest/fabricators hate this/comin' wit organic elements like photosynthesis/you can't get with this/this lyrical wizardness/I come thru your spot and start causin abysses to people that wanna quiz these/metaphorical pesos/they tried to confront but they rhymes were not able/Im gone with the wind like Clark Gable/I kill Savages like Kane did his brother Able/In the Bible/niggas can't see me/Randy bein' an emcee is like King David being a GD/It won't ever happen/I keep the hands clappin/bitch niggas im slappin when i bring lyrical mandarins/I win this shit/hands down/the number one profound/chief rocka/like the Lords of the Underground when I stop the/flow of wack compositions u call rhymes/like snitches i drop dimes/on any phony emcee that wanna come test me/stages and mics blown up like Hiroshima and Nagasaki/muthafucka please even your crew knows u can't stop me/the 15 year old battle hungry emcee/kickin ass and takin names for all people to see...
One other thing...why do niggas use wack writtens for freestyles when they writtens are immature like little babies wearin mittens??? |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 16, 1998 at 21:00:05 (EDT)
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what the hell was that
my rhyme was phat
there no need to cheat
Im just better so take a seat
?uest ya done fucked up
ya just a young pup
next time let the voters have there part
doin what you did means you have no heart
Sorry but next time we battle ya going down
I'll be waitin for ya to take back my crown
be here tomorrow around 12 pm
cause you fucked with me and thats a sin
and to the rest of you wack Emcees around here
watch ya back because me you could fear
|
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Name: ?uest
From: Chicago,Illanoyze
E-Mail: Sandford
April 16, 1998 at 17:53:57 (EDT)
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I look opon you with a question mark
Usin' Eratic Spokin' Tatics to tear you apart/from the start never understood why you began/your rhymes are older than a can of spam/I ran rhyme sessions,wit my own lessons/My style is unchanged like them Niggas Smif'n'Wessun/Im bettin' you never knew that the Chi blessed mics/You mad lookin' somebody done stole your bike/I fight you and whoever else wants to brawl/I'll be the last one standin' after ya men fall/I wanted to see how fast you thought on your feet/While the words i manifest come faster than you can blink |
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Name: ?UEST
From: Chicago,Illanoyze
E-Mail: Sandford
April 16, 1998 at 17:39:51 (EDT)
|
My rhymes are deeper than the nine foot
mark on the pool/Makin'you and this cat on the left start to drool/ Im ownin' this page at this contest/Its obvious from the first line im the best/That cats rhymes are dryer than a Thanksgivin' turkey breast/I must confess, That cat needs help/Its obvious he aint got knowledge of self/ or Hip-hop/ that nosense must stop/
Your rhymes are anticipated like Nasty Nas' fall off/But we keep it real/ Despite all you Ill-Fakers/My rhymes come wit' more sole-(soul) than Bakers'/Your rhymes
are cheap like a skate/Give my five votes cause i been won this debate |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 16, 1998 at 02:33:14 (EDT)
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| I just dont get-it/it wont happen if you dont let-it/all these rappaz given credit/for trying to set-it/but still sounding-pathetic/its time to dead-it/and hit the edit-button/nigga,so-stop fronting/and start job-hunting/cause im cuming,to stop your fussing and busting/ahh,you did-it/your about to get fitted/for the weak-rhymes you spitted/about the crimes you committed/when 99-percent of the time,you bullshitted/thats-it,your making me sick and tired/dont you know to be an M.C.,skills are required/to go the whole nine-yards/takes more than battle-scars/ and pulling-cards/you act-hard but babble on-and-on like a retard/movie-line after movie-line/pause the tape,and press rewind/and then try and find/how to convey a design/that is in its own way genuine/strictly one of a kind/and thought from the headpeice/raps been decreased to wack-beats/no techniques,and fleeced into rivalries between west and east/all weak-prerequisites get airtime/but real-M.C.'s wreckshit unsigned,time after time/real,meaning actions not just words/its disturbed/how most who fain hardcore,were once herbs/unerved,and now ready to do the serving/project-claiming,but found to be suburban/given classic-hiphop-titles,when not deserving/spreading false-perversions,just like mark-fermin/from spoken-toungues,of stacked columbian-funds/and german guns,flown with keys found in tons/illegaly/while expensive suits from italy,get rocked by dominicans distinctly/gently in bentlys,passing cuban-links to chinked hoes in minks/while sipping overpriced drinks/laundered by money-vultures/weight measured,and sculptured/life sacrificed,like christ on an alter/truth is,most rappers today,sound-gay like greek-culture. |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 15, 1998 at 18:47:38 (EDT)
|
yall know my steez
and it aint here to pleaze
its Time to get my schwerve on like the nigga from sportscenter
let all you muthafukas out there know that I'm no beginner
I enta the domain and get inside ya brain and cause you to go insane
its easy cause you lame
I'll take a little break, dipshit you caught ya breath?
I hope that you enjoyed it cause its the only one you have left
say ya rhyme but know thats its ya last one
cause you just lost your ass before you've even begun.
like the Wack MC Exterminator im sick of the weak heads around here
yall know who you are the ones with fears
its good to try and be like us
the real Emcees but dont raise a fus
when we diss ya rhyme
start speaking more from ya heart just try it and take the time
be you not cube or nas
cant you see ya wack and that style you should toss
i guess you dont understand that you just are another thing to hold us back
you give hip hop a bad name and im sick out picking up ya slack |
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Name: Wack MC Exterminator
From: Whereever you're at, Wherever you are
E-Mail: youhavenoskills
April 15, 1998 at 12:57:34 (EDT)
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Who leaked these wack rappers into the Micatastraphe environment/
It's like Vanilla Ice and Hammer came out of retirement/
So henceforth, please/ No more rhymes from wack MC's/
No more Verbal Assassin's, Aarnette's or SD's/
Be considerate of real heads and never press ATTACK/
I don't mean to be offensive but your lyrics are wack/
Matter of fact/ don't even vote/ We can tell you don't know what's hype from the lyrics you wrote/
That's why y'all catch more losses than the Denver Nuggets/
Only thing you should do with a mic is unplug it/
But Fuck it/
I don't even care who wins/
This other cat is more booty than a trailer load of skins/
All the aforementioned MC's can lick my twinz/
While tight MC's like Twon and Anonymous are racking up the wins/
I just had to flip on y'all like Dominique Dawes/
And inform you of the Nausea all your shitty rhymes cause.
|
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 15, 1998 at 01:26:19 (EDT)
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| Now let me begin/ I have no time forng acts/ those I subtract from wax and send them back/ catch a 3,2,1, contact/ fair game still remains an amatuers fate/ you cant manage escape from a damaged mindstate/ while I activate a chain reaction like auto catalysis/ your mental lacks action like paralysis/ so knowledge this analysis/ or face the balance of talents that decypher cyphers status/ written or spoken over the apperatus/ so in dew time you will see/ my minds designed to master/ the ceremony and its chapter/ considered genetically, the dominant factor/ also known as amensalism/ deadly adversaries will perish in my cataclysm/ while those left resort to cannibalism/ by bitting at each others manner/ wasting physical stamina/ by portraying another mans grammer/ but fall short of my subjects/ and get conjugated like nouns and predicates/ your natural elements/ remain delicate, when addressed/ my prowess, has cryptically hidden my delivery/ in order to combust instantly/ during its 2 second elapse/ you catch flashbacks/ experiencing relapse/ as your heart fails and your frame colapse/ from contusions/ now you realize your losing/ with your so called perfection/ consider this natural selection. |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 14, 1998 at 16:48:04 (EDT)
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you aint who you say you are
so i already have you beat by far
cause just me by book of rhymes and a pin
will face you all the wackness and I'll still win
by now you should know that when i start flowing
thats the time to start going
put down the mic and take puffys too
so he will stop stealin a beat or song from ever crew
you both lost the right to be an emcee
you dont even know who you be
so listen and learn from me
be ya self if your even going to try again
but dont forget that Scooter knows were ya been
so hide in the shadows and hope you dont have to battle me
keep ya fears locked up but dont forget i have the key
cause i attack and kill the weak Rappers
all there rhymes belong in the crappers
Sorry but I have to destroy
I bring the positiveity but i get mad when hip hop is used as a toy |
|
Name: Nas
From: Pseudo Mafioso Big Willie Click
E-Mail: sellout
April 13, 1998 at 21:49:24 (EDT)
|
I wear a pink suit 'cause I'm fruitier than Pez/
The only Colombian I really know is Juan Valdez/
Jackmasters on the beats to make these remakes tight/ Instead of Pete Rock and Xtra P because I saw the light/
Now I lie and say I chill with mafia types and pack a street sweeper, designer sneakers/ The only Italians I really know I see at Vinnie's Pizza/
So when you buy It was Written, real heads be cautious/
Comparing it to Illmatic might make you nauseous/
Instead of rhyming tight and truly representing where I'm from/
I say dumb shit such as "all right like blood money in a pimp's cum"/
My right hand man AZ watches Scarface way too much/
Now he thinks he the drug lord Sosa and can't be touched/
My girl Foxy Brown is a certified skank/
Who cashed in her "raw ass cheeks, disease infested" at the bank/
So if you like this fruity pop shit you have me to thank/
Just don't be surprised when my double album tanks/ |
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Name: Tha Verbal Assasin
From: Los Angeles, CA
E-Mail: hiaugi
April 13, 1998 at 13:38:53 (EDT)
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i wasn't dissin shit
so stop bein a bitch and a gay-ass snitch
You just wish, that you had styles like mine
And you just wish, that I wasn't able to shine
Cause ya sorry ass don't even know how to rhyme
At the same time
You see me in the lime-light, and you can't even rhyme right
I'd like to see your bitch-ass step to me with that shit in real life
But ya can't so ya start dissin me over the 'net
Better yet,hit Reset
Oh well, just shut the fuck up and quit yo bitch-ass complainin
It's time 4 me to do the mothafuckin explainin
Rearrangin', your whole face when I strike you
Diss me, and I'll be the one that's gonna fight you
I'll knock you out like Mike Tyson, but don't expect me to bite you
I just delight you, with this freestyle that wipes you...
...off your feet
As you continue to eat, these raw lyrics like meat
Raw like sushi but not edible like ya mom's coochi
That fuckin hoochi, I seen her on the corner with her swapmeet Gucci
Diss me with that wack shit
And watch yo back as ya get blasted
Bitch... |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 12, 1998 at 20:32:11 (EDT)
|
(OLD SCHOOL SHIT)
ONCE AGAIN HERE IT IS SLANG FROM THE LYRASIST/ OMNIPOTENCE LYRICS PERSIST TO BANG LINGUISTICS/ ON BEATS/ YOUR STYLE SEEMS WEAK, SO LISTEN CLOSE AND LEARN/ INCENDARY TECHNIQUES SEEM TO BURN/ LIKE LEFT EYE/ SO WHY TRY KID WHO YOU SIZING/ YOUR NAME COULD BE ANDRE/ BUT YOU STILL WONT BE RISING/ IM MUTILIZING THE MICROPHONE/ PLEASE DONT BITE THE STEEZE, GET YOUR OWN/ EXPERTIZE WELL KNOWN/ EASE YOUR DOME WITH THE WORDS I ACENTUATE/ YOU COULDN'T STROKE A BEAT IF YOU STARTED TO MASTERBATE/ YOUR FATE/ IF YOU CHALLENGE/ GET KNOCKED OFF BALANCE/ RECUPERATE NOT WITH YOUR KIND OF TALENTS/ I THOUGHT YOU KNEW THIS/ BEAT ME/ FUCKING LUDICROUS/ MATTER OF FACT RECRUDESCE/ SO WAKE UP/ LIKE MURRY ILL TAKE YOUR STYLE DOWN WITH NO CHASSER/ SO FACE UP TO THE RATIONAL/ YOU FAKE ASS CRIMINAL WANNA BE WILD/ GOING THROUGH SELF DENIAL/ OR TO BE MORE PRECISE ABNEGATION/ MY ONLY WORD OF ADVICE IS TO GET OFF MY DICTATION.
|
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Name: SD
From:
E-Mail: b3jones
April 12, 1998 at 15:19:24 (EDT)
|
You must be the massa of takin a blow
cuz you fina take many
when Ithe door
We can go toe to toe
I'll blast ya stupid ass for doe
you'll hit the flo
wont git up
neva eva no mo
I dun beat ya down
town to town
all over the bloody streets
Do you really wanna fuck with me
I'm sick in the head
I dun lost my mind
My tolerance is zero
I'll fuck up ya head
you'll end up dead
wit lyrical fury that splits ya neck |
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Name: Masta Switch
From: Cincinnati
E-Mail: mr_noel
April 12, 1998 at 05:07:26 (EDT)
|
Flawless Victory!!
Snap kicks like martial artist on speed.
Lyrical Fiend ,Paralyze M.C.'s like
Christopher Reeve.
Watch Masta Switch Burst on the scene,
Infect your mic like the case of
the gangrene, watch you fall off
naw' mean.
I'm on Com website ready to
attack,
So step back,I'll be givin you
Contusions like Warren Sapp sacks!
Forced fed enemies,vitamin ''B"s,
the hatreds burnin,it risin' up in me.
Just ask cats how they spell
cream,
S-W-I-T-C-H with stratigic tactics like
the A-Team.
So I Pitty, the the fool
on long cliffs,
short ends of spliffs,
Split talents of Geminii,
But just advance in one gift.
SWITCH |
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Name: Tha Disser
From: North Hollywood (california)
E-Mail: dissh
April 12, 1998 at 02:00:33 (EDT)
|
I have no passion for Tha Verbal Assassin/i can see his retarted ass glancin/i step through the fog with my indo smoke/i creep through the fog as i take a toke/you walk around with yo bra on too tight/bitch, you still gonna get fucked tonite!
HaHa! Eat that nigga!!!!
Fuck Tha Verbal Assassin!! |
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Name: BRAD(cHaNcELLoR)
From: Chicago, IL.
E-Mail: B RAD13965
April 11, 1998 at 21:33:14 (EDT)
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| As I bring silent weapons like killarmy/you black out like boot camp and u try to test the/verbal ammunition you keep shootin but forever missin/im shittin/on your whole style and burnin your profile like arson or scorpion/in mortal kombat/i bring havoc/your ass becomes ecstatic/i scare wack emcees off like the relic/i said it/your whole damn style's pathetic/you wetted/in your fuckin pants when u saw my stance/now lets dance/or battle/your ass i will tattle/for real/u think u ill cause u wearin tommy hill/i snatch u of your shirt and pollute u like landfills/i confuse u with lyrical nomenclature/u just a faker/your style is torn like paper/i break ya/like when glass falls on the ground/u tried to step up but like a dumb broad u get clowned/I take your whole title/i got more style's than Chicago got Gangster Disiples(GDs) |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 11, 1998 at 15:42:55 (EDT)
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| The course of my words reach fords disturbed spoken offa split mic chords/ ensured crowd applause from ghetto tours/ scoping many poor claped whores fucking source awards for five microphones/ on all fours like reservoir dogs chasing bones/ rap clones portraying hardcore in my zone/ while your fake endevour remains prone to be left alone or ignored alltogether/ trying to explore the gods mental corridor however/ my flows are forever leaving me sore for killing more bullshit than matador/ so next time make sure your overated encore is pure not justa saturated mixture/ stolen froma scriptured mentors last overture/ which bitya like carnivores now thatya pictured get preyed on by predators that have been boar to settle all scores/ on these fake hordes that try to move towards my categor inorder to get aboard my accord/ please so many treasured mcs still cant afford my mental currency/ kings-and-rulers couldn't measure my medulas candor recorded texture now poured for pleasure/ passed down from my predecesors main-sound/ uncensored swords slice glamour to the ground/ and astound your folklore just another pretendor captured by four-fours/ repeatedly gorged by chrome-mics kept stored for concealed war/ forged steel/ praise the lord, on his battle field. |
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, Ny (too strong for words)
E-Mail: deephunkl
April 11, 1998 at 04:36:47 (EDT)
|
Firth time around on this battlin' shit
For those that don't know my flow it's time to display it
Dee drops lyrics with a more difficult type simplicity
Regardless of sex, age social class or ethnicity
Then there are the truants who try to cop the blueprints
That I've drawn out for years and perfected to be fluent
Delivery sometimes 'next-day' but always first class
Arrivin' at your doorstep like you needed it fast
If you don't feel me by now you're playin' yourself
9 out of 10 doctors reccommend me for good health
Mortally wounded emcees like you salvage rhymes from verbal garbage dumps
But I leave you shook up like you about to bungee jump --
With the 5-second countdown and dental floss as the rope
And on the way down you shouted "Dee Phunk is so DOOOOOOPE!"
And this verse may not be as short as the one to the left
But believe me, like a heated casket
I'm always hot to death. |
|
Name: adfsasdgfasdf
From: advasdfasdf
E-Mail: sdfaasdfasdf
April 10, 1998 at 18:13:47 (EDT)
|
| adsasd |
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Name: Ice Cube
From: Westsii-iiide!!
E-Mail: icecube
April 10, 1998 at 17:39:21 (EDT)
|
Listen and learn as I continue to burn through the 4th dimension
It's about Time for your attention
Don't forget to mention, all the niggas I took on and left limpin'
They wimpin', but I'm just pimpin'
Representin' the West Coast
Cause it's the best coast
You East Coast niggas stress most
And yes It All Makes Sense
I don't care if you Used To Love H.E.R.
I'm still gon' fuck her, and buck her
You just another Common sucker
Motherfucker!
Mad at our Gangsta Rap
Mad cause our rap is phat
Mad cause our Thugs come strapped Mad cause yo beats is wack
In fact, I'm perfect at combat
You dont like us because of our innovation
Our creation that rules the Hip Hop Nation
Stop your God damn masturbation
|
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Name: Tha Verbal Assassin
From: Los Angeles, CA
E-Mail: hiaugi
April 10, 1998 at 15:09:59 (EDT)
|
| You other MC's are disgracin'/My lyrical penetration can be heard throughout the nation/Face it, I'll lock yo bitch in the basement/Rape it, make it suffer severe humiliation/Check out the amazin flows that I be creatin'/Or check out all the disgracin' ho's that I be playin'/Makin', the murderous lyrics like I was Jason/Pacin' back and fourth with my rhymes as the deaf awaken/Incredible lyrical flows so violent it could be R-Rated/This one-rhyme just like Busta Rhymes is just so Dangerous/The show is already taken/With lyrics so hot like it was cooked like bacon/Droppin bombs on Harlem World and even killin' Mason/I've been on probation, and this Micatastrophe is just bullshit and time-wastin'...... |
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Name: Tha Verbal Assassin
From: Los Angeles, CA
E-Mail: hiaugi
April 10, 1998 at 14:01:00 (EDT)
|
| I murder herbs verbally with lyrics ya never heard/killin all opposistion like Sadamm against the Kurds/It's my proposistion to eliminate all competition/Not a tuition but greedy as a politician/Listen, as I maintain unique rhymes killin you everytime/designed for a profined mind/at the exact time I demonstrate and create fate/causin any girl to masterbate/i integrate rhyming syllables to a rhythmic beat/which i pronounce in an addicting rhyme pattern echoing through the subconscience subduing the mind/i could murder you with a tech-9/but I prefer to murder you with my rhyme/ i remain verbally sound/ profounded by lyrics which i create/ to demonstrate the unique technique/leavin other MC's weak/from the West I don't stress/causing any nigga to confess/It don't make no Sense/Chicago is mine nigga, up against the fence/ prepare for the Hip Hop revolution/insane as an institution/as the West contests in the Hip Hop Nation/God is the creation/Look at all the time you'se wastin/ be patient/Fucking all The Critics In The NYC/as the East tries to start a Hip Hop Monopoly/Lyrically, niggas can't see me/I eat MC's/Been taggin since '93/Please gimme a nominee/For this Micatastrophe... |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 09, 1998 at 23:58:01 (EDT)
|
NO FRIENDS JUST FAMILY,MY DYNASTY TRANSEND TRAGEDY,EMBASSY CASUALTIES JUST FOR SALARY,DEFEND THE MASTERY,THAT WAS PASSED TO ME,STREET LEGACY FORMED REALITY,GUNSHOTS TO HENESSEY,DECEASED MEMORIES,REST IN PEACE,DESTINIED BY BEATS,CONCRETE STREETS TO THE BEAST LIFE IN COMPLETE,ANOTHER MASTERPIECE RELEASED WITH HEAT,FROM LACTOSE TO CRACK,HOES TO PROFALACKS,KNIFES TO GATS,COPS TO FAKE JACKS,THOSE THAT ACT GET TRAPPED AND BAGGED,FROM WEED TO LIQUOR,GREED FOR FIGGAS,SQUEEZE TO TRIGGAS,LEAD TO NIGGAS,LAST BREATHS AND LAST STEPS,OR FIRST STEPS AND FIRST BREATHS,GOD BLESS THOSE LAID TO REST,I STAYED TRUE TO MY FIRST MOVES WERE SUBDUED BY BREWS AND SPLIT CREWS,TO MY LAST DAYS BEFORE BLAZED MAKE SURE IT PAYS,MONEY FIRST HONEYS CUM NEXT LUST FOR SEX,THE LAST TO PULL THEIR TECH GETS WRECKED FOR THUG RESPECT,THROUGHOUT THE PROJECTS ITS SET,THE LAST TO REP GETS WET BY THE FIRST THREAT,PROCLAIMED SHOTS AIMED BY THE FIRST TO CLAIM GAME FOR FAME,THE LAST TO USE THEIR BRAIN GET STAINED BY THE RAIN,PAIN FROM THE FIRST LAID TO THE LAST SLAYED,BRIGADES UPSTAGED BY RAIDS FROM BAD TRADES,PORTRAYED BY THE FIRST CLASS TO BE THE LAST,BUT THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST AND THE FIRST SHALL BE LAST.
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 09, 1998 at 20:00:45 (EDT)
|
| Everyday,I hear your crys,from your knees rise,and realize the situation/its time to rectify a whole entire nation/we're living a lie,fantasized/was the prescribed exercise/as described,inorder to tantalize/and for those that tried,all where denied/and those that strived,lost their pride/trying to get inside,the secret of success/the rest where kept,and left oppressed/inorder to regress,to ses,vests,techs,and sex/while the best,cant recognize their ties/with the homosides they now materialize/while I prophesize,their destruction like nostradamus/all the coruption amoungus,has finally brungus/to the brink of extinction/we seek distinction within fictioned dictions,and false depictions of hate/we're the reason our murderate continues to escalate/while sirens break all silence/and street-violence,cascades from my mind/brigades of swine,set out to confine/due to crime designs,of hoover's administration/who manuevered assasination/to those that brought salvation/from false-history/it was never a mystery/so my delivery,is to rearange the symmetry/by rejecting their injected deception with perception/against those who assimilated/to the lifestyles they created/I've excommunicated,the essence of illuminati/and its presence,can hardly take effect/we're still trapped in the projects of their social-class/you can forgive but dont forget your true past/cause we've been stuck last throughout evolution/focus on their mental and physical pollution/we've been promised miracles,but wheres the retribution/this institution of democracy/remains hipocracies mirror image/we no longer can be timid/its time,they get to know the limits. |
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Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 09, 1998 at 03:11:56 (EDT)
|
Rappaz keep cloning,from slogan to slogan/I hear niggas bragging and boasting,going from coasting to coasting,without even knowing/the real matter,is these movie actor rappers/faking jacks to get past their characters hardcore appeal/recieved record deals,just for screaming keep it real/attention wanted,but still in all redundant/staying forever blunted,money flaunted,but mostly fronted/on all the weed and liquor,little niggas going from small to bigger/looking jigga chasing figgas on behalf of clothes designers/sounding pussy like vaginas,with one liners/and producers turned rhymers,softer than recliners/from lazyboys to lostboys to badboys/styled with a gimic poise,voiced over stolen noise/but when stale left unemployed,toyed by the car,money and bitches/you've been chasing riches,sold like snitches,growing to big for your britches/enterprising off your lies,masquerading your desquise until personified/dramatized,thinking your going somewhere,with that mean stare/and all the guns you bear,that aint really there/what do I care,for what you drink,what you smoke,how much coke/what kind of guns you tote/who quotes,and who stole'em,your ass is swollen from all that speaking out your colon/keep making your profits,while I remain a profit/only gods are theanthropic,you need to stop it,with your petty role/ready to sell your soul,just to get a hold/of the platinum and the gold.
|
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Name: XXX
From: Strong Island
E-Mail: ms104
April 08, 1998 at 21:11:49 (EDT)
|
Muthafuckas better learn how to listen/
mad MC's be gettin knocked out they position/ provide no competition/ they lack ammunition/ I leave niggas wishin with my lyrical precision/ it's part of my mission to bring da pain/ swallow ya like a hurricane/ knockin niggas out the frame/ leave em sayin "What's his name?"/ -XXX in full effect/ not afraid to tote the tech/ niggas need to learn respect/ have MC's hang by they necks/ leave em wonderin, "What to do?/ Who dis nigga from out of da blue?"/ my lyrics are tight, they stick like glue/ like prophecies, my words ring true/ shit iz real/ it's time y'all niggas knew whut the deal/ I bring shit that you can feel/ but always concealed, cause niggas try to bite and steal/ so, which way you wanna go?/ you can die hard or take it slow/ still don't know?/ whut the fuck!/ MC's don't wanna press they luck/ it don't matter, you can choose/ either way ya gonna lose |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
April 08, 1998 at 16:34:31 (EDT)
|
check this out
come to the hip hop booth, step into my world and hear the truth
look threw my eyes, and see the diguise, the lie
the wackness, the antiblackness, that they all pratice
understand that its alot different then you think or feel
to be an emcee you gots to be real
stand up and be who you be
even if you live in a white community
cause untill theythere eyes and realise that hiphop is on the rise
ya have to improvise
most people dont understand what this is
a form of expression not just a biss
to help me get threw all my anger and fears
to give me a smile when the cround cheers
so hear my thoughts, my vibe, my style not my color
cause this rhyme was made by a white brother |
|
Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx
E-Mail: rug1
April 07, 1998 at 22:22:26 (EDT)
|
| Now why you gonna start something,you aint got the heart to finish/calling names and shit,rhyming second like a bitch/is it because you studied my lyrics,and then decided to come wit-it/overconfident with that bullshit you flip/acting like anything you spit,cant get ripped out of proportion/by my infinite ammunition,deading niggas like kovorkian/causing multiple abortions,so who's word gets born/faggots like PRAXIS try to match this,get tossed on the mattress/fucking him raw bitch stroking,leaving your asshole like your wack flows,broken/you want to bring it,really you must be joking/or smoking some strong ses/cause even at your best,your better off trying to get your moms to fail an aids test/I got your heart like cardiac arrest,so with that 80's flow who you trying to impress/on the real its time to reveal so pass the steal,and Ima carve no skills in this faggots grill,similiar to the one rocked by seal/so fuck beef,we could bring it to the concrete with verbal assault and battery/discharging duracell shells at your bitch ass anatomy/and lastly if you want to blast me,i'll let you draw your weapon,but once raised you get blazed,so what you repping/cmon pussy dont bring it here,or ill get up in that ass like a gerbil to richard gere. |
|
Name: Lyrical Arsonist
From: N.J.
E-Mail: truedesperado
April 07, 1998 at 17:43:23 (EDT)
|
Yo,I be the lyrical arsonist,
sayin' about 44 words a minute,
get down with it as I continue to spit it,
I'm not in the rappin' game to earn cash,
I'm not in it to get pussy or ass,
I'm in it because I'm a true hiphoppa,
who's never gonna stoppa,
like Stars Wars I'm a storm tropper'
gettin' up on ya by stanza by stanza,
save the drama,
for your bitch and your mama,
I'll smoke you up,
as if your a piece of mariquana,
So you think you can beat me in battle,
you shook up son, like a baby's rattle,
cause I come with all the lyrical heart,
your beaten already,
cause you were beaten from the start,
If you come with that weak ass verse,
you know you lost,
I recommend using dental floss,
I'll put your lyrics on a plate,
and eat it like squash,
let me just drop one more line,
while your at home havin' some wine,
just to let you know,
I took the world by force,
so the world is mine.
A true desperado signing out,
Lyrical Arsonist |
|
Name: Dezert Demon
From: Tucson, AZ
E-Mail:
April 06, 1998 at 22:11:18 (EDT)
|
My audible transmissionz produce nightmarish eye-visionz/ While lyrical incisionz send soulz into emission/
I catch ya dissin tha Demon and there'z no turnin back/ I'll be pissin on ya grave 4 dishin rhymez that are wack/
So hit attack, I'm alwayz in tha mood 4 a good laugh/ tha funny thing iz I bet ya think ya shit'z phat/
Fuck that, ya need skillz 2 enta this here field/ forget a stop sign, when ya see me ya betta yield/
I can feel ya anga, come 2 tha darkside/ but if ya swingin ya saba ya gonna take a murda ride/
It'z suicide if you collide wit my mind/ ya need 2 press reset, betta yet hit rewind/
Cuz my rhymez be land minez, murderous like a Crip/ gettin heavy rotation like a sumo wrestla doin a flip/
What it be like losin wit ya tightest flows/ as I'm cruizin 5-0 to tha Survivor Scroll . . . |
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY (the forgotten region of NY)
E-Mail: deephunk
April 05, 1998 at 20:43:17 (EDT)
|
I've managed to sneak up on ya'll like a prowler again,
Mr. D-Phunk baby, the beginning of your end...
Spittin' mad lyrics, my saliva holy water
All get blessed with rhymes whether long or shorter.
The hour glass man droppin' rhymes like sand
To get all in your system like cig'rette smoke second hand
Three time champion son, I feel sorry if you missed it,
December 25th style, this emcee here is gifted
Gettin' to the point where frequent visitors have heard of me,
Meanwhile squeezin' wack emcees like lemons in herbal tea
Crossin' out haters like I made a mistake,
And showin' the reality to those that pose fake
So to wrap it up, why waste time and spit meaningless words,
When you know my flow is the best you ever heard? |
|
Name: DJ TWON representing Southwest Samurai
From: 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
April 05, 1998 at 15:05:22 (EDT)
|
NEXT TIME OMNIPOTENT COME WITH MEANING KID
I proceed to tear shit in two like segregation/
government leaves no time for mental concentration/
erase that/
black man is god becomes the ultimate revelation/
our minds envision past present future domination/
the white man’s in fear suffering from sleep deprivation/
guilty from 200 years of the Africans protested immigration/
again erase that/
my brother, gather scrolls of your cultural preservation/
it’s back to the MotherLand in a mass deportation/
let’s establish our country and begin our habitation/
for the quote unquote minorities there’s aninvitation/
help celebrate our liberation with utmost jubilation/
Hesitation?/
this vindication must be a figment of my imagination/
strong black men continue to decrease in population/
enslaved in the white corporation, his goal is complete annihilation/
raise an fist in protest and commit dire violations/
but look at us/
the stereotypical young black is a source of humiliation/
perhaps elimination is in order to prevent our multiplication/
Upon seeing a black man GOD cursed his miscreation/
likewise at times I’ve cursed my pigmentation as a source of malformation/
WHO WILL HELP ME END THIS MYTH OF OUR EXPIRATION?/
ELSE VALIDATE THE THOUGHTS OF MY MENTAL CONTEMPLATION…
|
|
Name: Omnipotent Esoteric!
From: MY Mother But I reside In Jerse!
E-Mail: kullashug21
April 05, 1998 at 08:42:22 (EDT)
|
You a devil from them Orion skies/ Your Ignorant ass gets defeated with your weak third eye/ Reptillian Coward
Eloheem with the esoteric power/
able to crush devils when i kick nouns and vowels/
I be all up that ass Like Dick Chaney to Colin Powell/
My Rhymes/ is one of a kind/
only one mind/ eternal time/
Annunaqi Divine!
check my metaphor/
check my poesy/
check my stanza/
life's a bonanza with plenty of answers.
Its time to take action /Its time take law.
Procreate/ Emancipate/ Break spells of those in the Leviathan state.
Jesus! I rip the Quraan and Bible to pieces/ They contain ignorant Thesus/
Omnipotent is Illmatic/Clamatic/Telepathic/An Addict of Ass and microphones/ I'll rock forever or at least to Jesus and the cows come home!
What!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
|
Name: Eye-Q
From: B-More
E-Mail: dahkid
April 04, 1998 at 21:10:09 (EST)
|
Microscopic skills are what you behold
Rhymes so hot,they even leave me cold
Like out in the blizzard,while I'm sharper then scissors
Break your brain like wizards
With deep magic books
Eye-Q with tradgic hooks
My rhymes take so much time from your mind that they can't be clocked
I'll give you 3 chances,but you still strike out like Master P at Rock'n'Jock
Rhymes more dirty then hibilly trash on Cops
Or Jerry Springer,3 time survivor scroll winner
Able,to wrap your skull in barbed cable
With such OUTLAWED lyrics,their FATAL
My vigilance, knocks out ignorance
Keep your brain verbally high like lyrical stimulants
Or like angle-dust dominicans
Kick that ass till I ruin both Timberlands
Ass capped without facts,is lyin'raps
Thats wack,please learn
North,West,or East-ern
Down to the South,hit emcees so hard,braincells fly out their mouth.....
Now step back while I rip the finale
13 year old on a rhymin'ralley
Staright off the top so noone can touch this
Treat girls like royalty with a dutchess
Like MIB's when I say "Trust-us"
But then erase your memory
So you forget your indentity
And can't sway away from this verbal chemistry
From blue to center-prints
Eye-Q bringin'hip-hop back to the elements.........
|
|
Name: Dezert Demon
From: Tucson, AZ
E-Mail: tjl5
April 04, 1998 at 05:59:53 (EST)
|
Enta tha realm of my demensionz, comprehensionz/a subworld of lyrical inventionz/Let me mention tha visionz found in my 3rd eye/elevatin my mind from tha contact high/Why even challenge me when you know you can't hang wit me/I'll disconnect ya flowz as if I wuz AT & T/Ya mad at me? good, I hope ya pissed ya fuckin fairy?I'm a Demon, yo check ya dictionary/Ya can't faze me, so just praize ya self-pity/I'm amazing, I gotz grace in every city/I dare you 2 dis me, I got Devilz watchin you/Say my name 2 a mirror 3 timez and I'll be stompin you/Materialize from dark cloudz in tha rain/foreva in pain when I attach 2 ya brain/I'm insane, tha snake in Eden feedin you tha apple/while you be fuckin Adam cuz ya fruitier than Snapple/Wanna battle? ya can't outlast me, punk/I'm way 2 nasty like finga-fuckin a skunk/What! What! I'll disrespect your intellect/how can you possibly claim 2 be a poet/I know it hurtz ya feelingz, but you'll neva kill tha ill/ MC wit so much skillz you get grilled at will/Blood spillz, I send chillz like tha Undataka'z bell/ya wanna battle me, I'll see you in Hell . . . |
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Name: ?uest
From: Chi
E-Mail: Sandford
April 03, 1998 at 17:43:22 (EST)
|
You like a man wit no Method,
so ima rip some shit to give deadman apulse
my rhymes come harder than mack trucks
givin' you that look upon your face like "What the fuck"
I happend on the scene wit a demenor that semt serene
but little did you know im the main feature on this screne
you dream of verses where you arent cursed at
I cant give it cause i dondeal on that format
Ill attack any wack emcee on any type of land
whether it be concrete, mud ,waxed floors or soft sand
You came at me wit a rehearsed verse
So like a Gigapet ill control ya Universe
|
|
Name: DJ TWON of the Southwest Samurai
From: 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
April 03, 1998 at 11:48:11 (EST)
|
Uh uh yo…
the fruits of my labor elevate my juxtaposition/
this Lionhearted Ethiopian causes mental submission/
most of you rhyme cats suffer from mental malnutrition/
missiles get launched when I have target acquisition/
blast your lyrical CARRIER into mothballed
decommission/
float by like an apparition without opposition/
leave you struggling to contemplate my chemical composition/
don't fault a nigguh who has million-dollar ambitions/
soon I'll have mailers in your PO Box like the Christian Coalition/
COMMON used to hold the belt but now the title's in transition/
For the hizzoes I put an R&B flavor to my shit like the NEW EDITION/
And for the brotherhood of man I'll put cancer in remission/
then destroy abortion cause the baby's only doctor ends up being a damn mortician/
estimate the Drake Equation with mathematical precision and proceed to bomb your rhyme out with Napoleons skills as a tactician/
I twist words and phrases like a politician/
have you reaching for a thesaurus trying to grasp my definition/
my dick maps out a pussy expedition that ends when your bitch gives me a lingerie exhibition/
supercharged electron transmission you're shooting gunz with blank ammunition/
ANOTHER VICTORY 5-0 IS THE SAMURAI TRADITION…
|
|
Name: Southwest Samurai feat. DJ TWON
From: 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
April 03, 1998 at 00:56:20 (EST)
|
Desert Demon Where You At Son?!
let me knock off this next cat right here
uh yo...
360 degrees of styles enter the Wu Son circumferential/
reign over native populations like monsoons torrential/
phat breakbeats become quintessential/
other nigguhs masquerade with lyrical nonessentials/
succeeded in this rap game without treatment preferential/
bullet scars on my chest provide the MC credentials/
subliminal hip hop lyrics give suicide orders preSidential/
integrate the New World Order like equations thas differential/
peep the glide of this kid with unlimited potential/
destroying Moslem temples with religions existential/
defending championship titles/
setting records preCidential/
expose like hard copy/
your homosexuality is no longer confidential/
hypnotic beats lead to messages influential/
ladies move their asses in motions TANGENTIAL/ (OH SHIT!!)
proceed to mack and bring the honeys back to my residential/
hand them each a number a hit their shit in a manner thas mathematically sequential.........
FAKE NIGGUHS TAKE A SEAT CAUSE THIS SOLDIER BRINGS THE HEAT KID |
|
Name: Eye-Q
From: B-More
E-Mail: dahkid
April 02, 1998 at 15:55:00 (EST)
|
Once and for all I abolish emcees
Once they disapear without trace,it'll be a verbal oddessey
Knock you out your own frame,logically
The outcome of my existence will be to gory
You get spreaded quicker then acids at labrotories
Fuck it,I'll battle you in my sleep
I'll battle you with two nails stuck in my feet
I'll battle you without when your wide awake,or restin'
I'll battle you after I've already torn out your intestines
Brain matter all over the ceiling
No more time to plan,this is the real thing
I go strictly off the top until I blow it
Give your cerebral a buzz,quicker then a lotus
Subliminal visual,so my opponents can't focus
I tear off your arms and then your tongue
After that,I'll use my mic to rip apart that weak lung
Have you spittin'blood in all directions
13 Years old,but I got a eternal reflection........
|
|
Name: Dezert Demon
From: Tucson, AZ
E-Mail:
April 01, 1998 at 23:18:40 (EST)
|
My verbal vibration is tha new medication/ patients be takin 4
microphone masturbation/Conversationz wit Satan debatin stipulationz/of
playa-hatin, perpetratin and genetic alterationz/ Nationz of wicked
muthafuckaz tryna take/ tha title of Demon, but I'm tha real one they
hate/Ya twist reality if ya get mad at me/cuz my mind is lethal, lyrical
insanity/can it be ya jealous of my intellectual flow/ya ignorant
allowin ya weak mind 2 show/and blow like a storm, hurricane thru tha
city/I am tha shit, you just sound shitty/Dizzy from tha shock by tha
wack rhymes ya rock/like crack on tha block, tha dead clockaz will
flock/and walk tha fine line 2 slow pain and doom/consumed like a
mushroom cloud then go BOOM/Tha room is spinnin, let me straighten ya
vision/now focus your attention on my worldwide mission/to preserve this
art wit heart,mind,and skillz/I don't give a fuck who ya done killed/but
if blood spillz from my friendz or my fam/my wrath will expand and
command tha Devil'z plan/Undastand my intentionz don't mention murda/but
I have little patience 4 beginning learnaz/I'll burn ya, in ya confusion
ya lose sight/flashes of heat then I vanish into tha night . . . |
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY (once again!)
E-Mail: deephunk
April 01, 1998 at 15:36:10 (EST)
|
Your inner thoughts have been stolen
Big D is now controllin' the situation at hand
So listen up my good man
Iyour eyes wide like thrill rides
And rhyme patterns collide with one style having to die
But that won't be me son, the D-double E son,
You know you can't touch what you can't see son,
Who you know betta than me that flows with betta poetry
And shows you the visuals with precise image chemistry?
Ability to the utmost, if you were Keith Sweat you couldn't Kut Klose, and NOBODY is iller than your current show host.
Twist emcees like spaghetti with rhymes thicker than Prego
It was nice knowing you son, Hasta Luego.
-dee ph! Upstarts '98
|
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Name: Dezert Demon
From: Tucson, AZ
E-Mail:
March 31, 1998 at 20:40:35 (EST)
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| Peace 2 Killah Priest, but I'm a priest killah/ put tha Demon in tha dark and I become a blood-spilla/ I'm illa than a schizofrantic geek, I'm a freak/ so unique even God tweaks when I speak/ tha diabolical dialect I resurrect/ from tha depths of Hell, so ya betta respect/ my intellect dismisses religious bullshittaz/ So pray 2 God, bitch, ya rappin's 4 beginnaz/ I'm a sinna, I sold my soul 2 tha Devil/ that's why my rhymes be on a whole 'notha level/ I'm 2 clever 4 you 2 ever try and dis/ my microphone is tha weapon of a true lyricist/ tha realist 2 ever bless this arena/ I battled Hercules now it's time 2 fuck Xena/ I didn't mean ta hurt ya, shit, I meant ta burn ya/ cuz when ya rap out ya ass ya gon' feel tha hernia/ you can't bomb first if you got no bombs 2 drop/ I be smokin' Tha Plant 4 tha love of Hip-Hop |
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Name: Koyi
From: Chicago
E-Mail: Koyi
March 31, 1998 at 14:27:35 (EST)
|
| I am refugee by definition/ only because my being feels displaced in space and times of which it exists/My body twists/To a familiar music/That gives me the impression that I own it./Showed it/To my kin/Stanza by stanza I compared poetry to my life story/I match it like a positive I.D./Painful truths that commit themselves to memory/And capture my soul to keep it close to reality/Sat in my borough trying to internalize and digest scenery/ as if it was food sent from a G.O.D address/No longer will I return it to sender/Source of my hunger for life be rendered/Unknown till I find the meaning of self/Definition is a product hard to come by/When you dealin with your people who placed their brains on the shelf/Even I find it hard to float in waters unknown/Unknown are the circumstances around the absence in my life/ that won't add up/My case wasand shut/when life manifested in my lungs/My body is strung/On a black soul that be heavenly/the sounds and I are one mos' definately/My feelings must be projected in words that I listen to/a sea of browns and black musical notes/That suggest me as the subject of music they tote/When I'm alone/It speaks to me in heavenly tones/That are understandable only with knowledge of the problem shown. |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 31, 1998 at 01:54:21 (EST)
|
EVERY TIME I ROCK A RHYME
I SHOOT ANOTHER EMCEE DOWN
GETTING THE DEALS WITH NO SKILLS
BUT THEY DONT KNOW HOW THEY REAL SOUND
DUMB ACTER IS WACKER
AND FAKER THEN VINILLA
THAT CRAP IS WEAKER THAN GANGSTER RAP
SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO TRY AND BE A KILLA
bite all the styles you want over there
but the real hip hop is over here
not with any of the badboy crew
after my 2 gemini tables hit you better know what to do
RUN cause you already got what you want out of rap
a ton of money and a girl on ya lap
so quit fuckin up what i love with ya lost,fake,and greedy mind
if you tried speaking from ya heart its pretty cool what you will find
but when you speak from ya wallet or ya dick ya might as well be blind
now im not here to rip on puffy daddy or anybody of that nature
but i am a r n b or rap n bullshit hatter
my point is my be fake when it is so easy to be real.
but if you like being wack stay that way cause you will be my next meal
|
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Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY (don't sleep...)
E-Mail: deephunk
March 30, 1998 at 17:05:26 (EST)
|
Rise to the occasion, kerosene rhymes blazin',
Deliver lyrics with grace classified as amazin'.
Simple techniques get freaked when I speak
Bringin' hope to the pitiful and strength to the weak.
Those who choose to second guess how I bless this
Get finessed by the best when Ibook test this
Most of what I recite is nothin' special
But when I spit guaranteed I'm out to wet professionals
Wack emcees best to take another route
While I program styles Number Johnny 5 couldn't compute
The main purpose of this mission is to work hard and try
To show that decent emcees still reside in L.I.
And for those that choose to dis me, I really can't give a fuck
Skills come a dime a dozen and I just spent 10 bucks. |
|
Name: Widget
From: Irvington,N.J
E-Mail: khalidl
March 30, 1998 at 09:28:54 (EST)
|
| I pick up da mic wit percission/ invision, your death wish on some next shit dats my mission/ but it's not impossible in fact it's quite simple/ I pop ya silly ass like a pimple deep like dimples cause da temple , between my two shoulders grows older/ as da world becomes colder headz is gettin big like boulders/ I wake you up like folders caffienated niggaz hate it/ My stlyes' debated, amoung da pharasses who rate it/ cause I'm intoxicated/ or just possessed by da freestlye demon wit no need for da cess/ I'm da best because I bless your mind wit da logic/ dats not absend minded/ so keep it in da closet/ I run like a faucet/ dats washin dirty dishes/ for fullin niggaz wishes/ not mackin ugly bithes/ cause shit is real in da life dat I'm livin/ I fill in da blanks of da questionare given/ I'm chillin wit my crew D.F.N in da bricks/ my shit ain't fixed there ain't no tricks silly rabit/ My habits just to grab it and reek havoc on da mic/ Cause I enlight your brain and yo my shit is tight |
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Name: slo-mo
From: mecca
E-Mail: slo-mo
March 29, 1998 at 18:45:53 (EST)
|
YO, my tounge lash out like yoshi / quick and swift, manual like a stick shift / a big lift, for hip hop heads / step and get torn to shreads / ill hip hop sounds / my head is like a gun shoot'n out a 1000 rounds / release the hounds, you garunteed
to get ya ass bit / slo mo put an end to vin rock shit
whack emceez like you, i be cosumin em / you lack abillity to go platinum, so stay alluminum / im doin em a favor / blaze emceez like a lazer / bost, you get toast, garunteed to amaze ya / you all should know / that i deserve a spot on the scroll / but the tru emceez dont get props from they foes / so i suppose, all ya cats wont vote for me / but im here to shine, just like im suppost to gee / and i wont stop untill a nigga send me to a grave / yall niggaz dont amount to my shit, so just behave |
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Name: Sir Vin Rock
From: n.c.
E-Mail: KDVMF
March 29, 1998 at 16:43:03 (EST)
|
The lalala flows just be so weak
Her whole rap style sounds so geek
I come with the high mental potency
No emcee want to be approaching me
I got the hard core lingo
Im funky like a jingo
But not a beatle like that nigga ringo
So lalala you got a problem with P
Well come see me it'll be tragedy
so bow down to me your majeisty
Im gonna be chillin on the Survivors Scroll you know how this nigga roll.
So challengers I wave by Im just too high.
I sit back drink a fifth your whole game is
a wish. |
|
Name: ILustrado aka KP of P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S.
From: chi, illa-noyze
E-Mail: pacifics_
March 28, 1998 at 23:14:34 (EST)
|
Intrinsic wisdom/
like Buddha nature/
my shit's formless/
It adapts to my habitat when verbs are spit/
Rise above mortality and realms of the material shit/
Cuz' that's the level in which I can grip/
It brought contusions upon my brainstem
when I first seen them grim pictures of fame and money galore/
what my 2 eyes could find still was blind to the third mind was blurred by the absurd facts absorbed/
Surely my purpose on earth/
is more than financial worth/
went to church/
but got no answers from my creator/
and later times when I found myself/
down upon the cold cold ground/
I started analyzing human nature/
We seem to follow/
the pleasure principle,/
we feels invincible/
through rituals of striving for the good life/
but when man gets trapped in the rapture/
to capture the cash/
I'll betcha ass that his ego reaches new heights/
but I ain't knocking financial stability/
cuz' without them presidents
how could you get out ya deficit/
but it's when elements of greed
proceed to fuel your needs/
best believe I could tell you where the devil went/
So I strive to elevate the mindstate
by acquiring knowledge/
that goes far beyond the books I've read/
While my body lives out the physical life/
my spirit will fly/
to a place where you ain't never been.
|
|
Name: lalala
From: somewhere, usa
E-Mail:
March 28, 1998 at 17:12:08 (EST)
|
ya'll ain't got sh*t to say
same ole, same ole
every single day
talkin' bout how your the greatest
or the latest
your lyrics are dated
s rated
for stoopid, sorry, and simple
go back to poppin' ya pimples
find sumthin' new to rap about
and try not to clap aloud
for ya dayum self
you know ya don't belong
on the survivor scroll
so stop hittin' reload
act like ya know
'cause you've been told
|
|
Name: Last Emperor#2
From:
E-Mail: play9513
March 28, 1998 at 11:10:51 (EST)
|
| A Yo/My Eye Q is on a higher level then your's will ever be/currupting your mind/ my flow travels like the sea under high capasadee/fucking with me/ isnt a logical desigion/ i make insigions on your braine/ that got you insane from attak of my power from my raine b/personally i dont got nothing against you/ i run through you and make you do 1000 push-up's intill u can c me/ its almost over for u but i just begon/i won like common did cube my son/this shit is just for fun no time for your games/ i play with your mind/ and make it seem like it's been juggling hand gornades/ i should off went off on your bitch ass for a longer task/but common said sum this nigga up in 200 worlds for a blast/ a yo 10 more worlds more and i would off started lyricall witchcraft |
|
Name: R.a.P.s.OdY (Rapture of Analytical Soliloquies)
From: chi-ILLA reppin P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S. on and on...
E-Mail: rapsody
March 27, 1998 at 21:51:02 (EST)
|
my polarity is positive/
becuase i gotta live/
for the virtues when the vices be too negative/
incentives of this 'real world' aren't saleries/
and kids are misled/
be thinkin ganja is their majesty/
yo face reality/
the R.a.P.s.OdY be gettin high of some knowledge/
schoolin immature fools with tools/
enhanced by where i live and how i live/
yo be an individual/
original.../
cause turnin out a cypher's one of dyalectick's rituals/
rizidual effects are long lastin and amazin/
with this eloquence it ain't no accident that my blood runs asian/
yeah i be an asian, not korean but i got soul/
and emcees that wanna battle get your jackets cause my styles' cold/
my "integra"ty like ACURA is "legend"ary/
respect to moms and dads, the life i live is what they gave me/
prepared my mind to better myself/
and at the same time be selfless/
and deal with this hand that i've been dealt with/
a stealth mission/
fishin for real facts to face/
with the guidance of the third-"i" pick my own path to take/
we need some "light upon the darkness"/
look at what ignorance has started/
and peace to prejudice cause with this rhyme i have abolished.... |
|
Name: Disple
From: Newark also B-more
E-Mail: player9513
March 27, 1998 at 20:47:11 (EST)
|
| A yo/i destory any mc that think they going to attack me/ based on science that cant prove out to be logicly/do the knowledge G/no pussy mc can battle me/ cause if u do/ u lose like that nigga named cube B/ dont be a wack mc/and lose credit with me/cause that will allow me to kill you with a fattillaty/based on's god property of fucking a ryme/I revole around the sun and be caughting a crazy vibe/ i power to kill u before the shine off commons 3 record under close devine |
|
Name: Eye-Q The 13 Year Old Wondah
From: Baltimore (B-More)
E-Mail: dahkid
March 27, 1998 at 18:50:37 (EST)
|
Flash floods couldn't top my flows
Iron armor couldn't stop my blows
Right hooks and jabs across the jaw
What you think you saw,was just a illusion
Detecting my rhymes is known as intrusion
On the mental circuit
When I touch the mic it get hotter then the middle of the Earth get
With mathemactical equations
Freestyle conversations
And battle dominations
I'm a very busy kid
Step on stage and get dizzy kid
With babbling and battling
I unhook your grappling
And like your so called FIRE CRACKling
Verbal chemistry is formed indentically
To that of my enemies,so I can knock out their indenties
Once and for all,fake tendencies,to breakin' the law
Talkin' bout pullin'gats and livin'with rats
Rackin'up bank numbers
Well slow your roll cause you just get knocked by the 13 Year Old Wondah.......... |
|
Name: Praxis of Left Field
From: Queens/ Wake Forest
E-Mail: jonekr00
March 27, 1998 at 12:50:49 (EST)
|
The only applause you're guaranteed is when you pass the mic/
Your shit is loose fit like guess jeans steady claimin it's tight/
When i first read your rhyme i wished i was illiterate/
If your shit is that wack, don't post it, be considerate/
I'll empregnate ya bitch style maybe my genes'll be dominate/
when people see the inequity of our rymes they'll writhe in astonishment/
Far from the average men, i'll disestablish your establishment/
Steal the stage at ya live shows, make you mad at your management/
Warning!! Disclaimer!! Your rhymes are wacker than they appear/
Hopefully i can make them dissapear in my rear view mirror/
Overall your shit's bleak incomplete and rather weak/
I run ya shit from A to Z, i'm rather unique/
|
|
Name: Phoenix
From: Brooklyn/Flatbush
E-Mail: harmony357
March 26, 1998 at 20:42:44 (EST)
|
Illusionist,
And With My Illusions, I Cause Mass Confusion,
Call Me A Confusionist,
Stratch dat Call Me Confusius,
Approach Me And Become My Arch Nemisis,
An Ill Alchamist,
A Scientist,
Slash Chemisist,
For Those Who Claim Ignorance,
And Been Defeated By Foolishness,
They Choose To Approach This,
I See... You Wish To Be Thrown Into The Nexus,
Or Shall I Cast You Down To The Abyss?
Claim Your Death Wish,
The Weak Shall Call Me Ferocious,
Hence So Shall You, When My Words Cause You To Reminesce,
Of How You Just Been Consumed By The Divine Phoenix,
Not Even The Savior Can Save You From This,
This Battle I Shall Win, I Mean Won,
Past Tense, Means Its Been Done...
Divine Phoenix... peace N blessings To ALL... Raahubaat Wa Shalum Ila Kull Nuwaubian Ukhutaat Wa Akhutaat....
Representing For My Ho Shang Dynasty.. My Asian Crew... Peace.. |
|
Name: sean the lay z boi
From: gary, in g.i.!!!!!!!!!
E-Mail: layzboi
March 26, 1998 at 16:37:49 (EST)
|
you¹re about to witness/ the very best/
comin¹ out from the Midwest lyrical nest/
Gary I. N. is where i rest when I¹m relieving¹ stress/
but no sweat, I¹m just waiting for a brother to test/
my skills/ what the deal?/
kid you can¹t be real/ I¹m like pushing cyanide pills all down your grill/
niggas steppin¹ to the mic like they shit is so vital/
yet choke like John Starks did in the Houston finals/
what a disgrace/ you outta place/
had free throws at my face/ but missed like Shaquille/
you don¹t know what it takes/
exit to the lake/ oh shit put on the breaks/
turn around go to Chi-town for a dockberry shake/
i hate when they waste in my galant¹s interior when I¹m steering her/
I¹m not hearin ya, cause like Dennis Rodman you resemble a human bacteria/
challenging to me as if your beats were so live/
i wish you could change them like mike did to 45/
I¹llthe book of Austin chapter 3:16/
if i hear that same sample from your drum machine/
know what i mean? be original/
stop tryin to be a criminal,/ pimp, player, or hustler, soundin like busters/
but I¹m gon¹ bust your ass cause I¹m not one of them/
verbally outdo you just by clearing my phlegm/
see how I¹m doin him?/ my speech just ruined him/
toss his ass in the trash like a condom cause I¹m through with him/
last but not least, peace Nupes/ yo baby yo!!!!!!/
and that¹s the bottom line..... CAUSE STONE COLD SAID SO!!!!!!!
|
|
Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx/Cornell
E-Mail: rug1
March 26, 1998 at 04:22:25 (EST)
|
I HOLD MY BATTLE FIELD, COCKED BACK STEEL, READY FOR COMBAT/
SPITTING FRASES LIKE RAZORS, GEMSTAR YOUR WHOLE CAMP/
LEAVING SCARS ON FAKE STARS ACTING HARD PAR,/
TAKING IT TO THAT NEXT LEVEL, FAR FROM HOES AND CARS/
IN A BARAGE, LAYING DOWN YOUR ENTORAGE ON THE CONCRETE/
I SMACK BITCHES WHO TURN CHEEK, NOT KNOWING WHEN TO SPEAK/
WHORES NEED TO LEARN TO WAIT THEIR TURN,
I SPIT SPERM INTO THE HEAT, TRYING NOT TO GET BURNED/
MY TECHNIQUE IS FROM THE B.X. , NO QUESTION/
NIGGAS CANT PUT UP, LIKE IMPOTENT NIGGAS WITH ERECTIONS/
IM THE ONE FLEXING ON YOUR SESSION, FUCK WHO'S RHYMING/
RIPPING NIGGAS LIKE HYMENS, EXPOSE THAT ASS, AND THEN I CLIMB IN/
INFECTING MOTHERFUCKAS JUST FOR STEPPING FRONTING JIGGA/
RAPPING LIKE VIRGINS, CAUSE YOU NIGGAS AINT GOT IT IN YA/
PAIL IN COMPARISON, LIKE PHOTOS OF MICHAEL JACKSON/
IM KIDNAPPING FAGGOTS FOR ACTING, SUBTRACTING WACK FACTIONS FROM RAPPING/
EXTRACTING BRIGADES FROM THEIR RIB CAGE, WHILE LISTENING TO MARVIN GAYE, WITH HIS POPS TWELVE GAUGE/
THATS MY WORD, MOST OF THESE FAGGOTS SOUNDING BACKWORDS/
FEMININE TYPES ON THE MIC, SO KCUF ' EM, I MEAN FUCK 'EM, AND WHATEVER SET THEY CLAIM,/
WHETHER AN AMATUER OUT FOR FAME OR A VET POSING IDLE THREATS, FUCK PRESSING ATTACK, NIGGA YOU BETTER HIT RESET.
|
|
Name: DJ Twon repin' Southwest Samurai
From: 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
March 25, 1998 at 22:46:46 (EST)
|
Once again it is the Southwest Samurai…THE REAL SHOGUNS
ayo yo...
advanced criminology/
I proceed to rob your spot technologically/
superhuman mind psychology/
debunk your ideology/
illegal toxicology/
rhymes destroy earthly ecology/
your girl is in to deep like hydrology/
she's on her back while my dick gets a degree in gynecology/
Do you follow me?/
the lyrics reveal a complex biology/
the stance I assume implies superior embryology/
I guess you're gay cause you like proctology/
I prefer to educate myself with a different scientology/
define astrology with a new set of numerology/
likewise/
I hypothesize you won't contemplate my methodology/
lyrics that belong in a hiphop anthology/
got your future mapped out like the shit was topography/
again follow me/
manifest destiny adhere to indentured philosophy/
backtrack timeline without nuclear energy/
your devastation executed with complete mastery/
explode up social ladders while you remain stationary/
look forward in time deem me lyrical visionary/
these lyrics are preliminary/
meaning what follows will be quite revolutionary/
legendary in rap annuals your secondary/
possess the ability to constrict the pulmonary/
all around me wack MC's is looking wary/
|
|
Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx/Cornell
E-Mail: rug1
March 25, 1998 at 20:40:49 (EST)
|
| I will rupture your entire nervous system structure, then begin to transduce whatever bullshit you produce, then cold lines will suduse your composure, send chills through your spine that froze ya, strong impulses, and your nervousness causes, your crew to face loses, or call for reinforcements, now you may endorse this attack, from true rap upon your synapse, then I'll crush your cardiac, still without record contract, and as you heave trying to breath, fall to the floor in disbelief, from the enzymatic reaction, allowing my tactic subtraction, to diminish your weak actions, using psychosis, then through mitosis, I initiate cell reproduction, to create a new function, for my affinity, I soon pass through your membranes permeability, inorder to release energy, through z therapy, my enemies weigh heavily upon procurement, all hits ferment, then take aim, wide range, quick enough to suffocate your gas exchange, while my dedicated game, remains premeditated in your brain, to influence, a spill of body fluids, in congruence, with methodology, and it will all lead to entropy, from a true prodigy of chemistry, animal like instinctively, brings the remedy for your rejection, consider this natural selection. |
|
Name: pyREXf.o.r.d. aka strike3 of P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S.
From: chi-illa
E-Mail: pyrexford
March 25, 1998 at 19:29:33 (EST)
|
yo, this catalyst, wackness/
made me fade to blackness/
the fact is, i gotta combat shit/
lay-techs(latex) like prophylactics/
tactics for when its gettin' drastic/
leave all the dramatics for them kids pullin' gats kid/
cuz im droppin' the rain, and when it rains it be porin'/
got you chillin' in the cut like your name was neosporin/
so just get on the floor when, you hear my shit drop/
i got cats doin up-rock and the ladies makin' their body pop/
as im cuttin emcees makin' it burn like gonorrhea/
cuz i be runnin' mad shit like it was diarrhea/
i be the, rexford the ill lyrical landlord/
evictin' wack emcees from the mic, thats what i stand for/
so peeps the ill freestyle, commin' from the golden child/
if there is no smokin, well then im gonna chill for a while....... |
|
Name: Master Sage
From: Valparaiso, IN
E-Mail: stevec
March 25, 1998 at 18:54:41 (EST)
|
How 'bout I speak a sentence?
Write about my essence
With a pen
And mention, my inner-heart's confessions
It seems rappers these days don't have no dreams,
'Cept for the money they scheme,
For them it's all about cream,
But not me.
Ya see, bein rich just ain't my niche
So I'm never gonna swith and sell-out like a bitch
My rhymes, are on par with the best,
And I gotta confess, I'm just tired of the rest.
I be Sage, a child prodigy like baby Jesus in a major,
Yet throwing punches and kicks just like a Power Ranger
The music changer, Sage is on top,
When it comes to makin funky music and rockin Hip-Hop
Shuttin ya down like a cop with the words that I drop,
Ya better watch out if your album's coming pop
Verbal Assassin means I hit ya outta nowhere
Before I bust I rhyme you won't even know that I'm there
Coming with that verbal violence
I strike just like a Killa Bee straight outta Shaolin
No need to rehearse the verse, straight freestylin
Until Common and Laura come at 7:30, I'm straight wildin'.
|
|
Name: Master Sage
From: Valparaiso, IN
E-Mail: stevec
March 25, 1998 at 17:32:04 (EST)
|
My words are ammunition from a lyrical gun
Poetic revolution from America's son
Verbal assassin, my tongue's a deady blade,
Cuttin up ya phony emcees who just out here to get paid,
See, my Knowledge Reigns Supreme like BDP,
But I'm also Wise Intelligent like PRT
Coming more clean than Jeru
And like The Roots I never do what they do
'Cause I'm origin-al, blazin like Tical, take a bow
Those lyrics are wack, so Give It Up like P.E. now
Rhyming cortex with vortex? I demand more text,
Listening to too much Wu, has rubbed off on you,
Like the kids in "Scream" watching too many horror flicks
I suspect you're new
At this rap thing, you wanna be king but don't have skills
Just give Master Sage time, I'll proceed to write your will. |
|
Name: Phoenix
From: Brooklyn/Flatbush
E-Mail: harmony357
March 25, 1998 at 16:31:22 (EST)
|
It Was Inscripted,
In Hyrogriphics,
That My Lyrics, Would be Encypted,
Into Your Cerebreum Cortex,
Astroly Project, Lyricist Through The Vortex,
I Ask Whos Next,
To Be The First Of The Last,
To be Mentally blasted,
And Casted, To be Lost in the realm of time,
For Each Lyrical Line,
Causes An Incision,
With Precision,
So Make Your Decision,
Do You Choose To Die By hunger,Or by the Quickening of my 4 winds,
May You Comprehend The End,
For Your Decapication has yet to begin,
Just Remember, The Child Born On The 31st Of December, Cant even save you from this sin. |
|
Name: Ell Ness/Non Sequitur of Left Field
From: CT/Wake Forest
E-Mail: nichet00
March 25, 1998 at 14:05:10 (EST)
|
Penetration leads to penalties
immune to penicillin/
Worse than penitentiaries because
it's pleasure that's villain/
You lounge in my penumbra
scheming on my patent pending/
Whether pen or pencil I'm penultimate
so stop pretending/
I'm predisposed to pre-empt
preening confederates/
Precluding what they propose to leave
their present tense preterite/
Or Past, cause I'm past what they passed
off in the past/
Poised to paralyze emcee's
like Teddy Pendergrass/
Point being I'm superior or so it appears/
Put it to a prosecution and
a jury of peers/
Pro bono on your phono, excite you like porno/
Peeps in Pompeii eating pizza bon giorno/
Plus the shit that I produce/
is guaranteed to get you loose/
Puerto Ricans all pronouncing it's gordo/
Rhymes are non-fat/
From all you lyrical Jack Sprats/
I need some real comp so where's
Canibus at?/
You never heard of Left Field, son?
somebody should've warned ya/
Too little, too late now I'm straight
Dos Vodonya/ |
|
Name: MAL
From: the womb
E-Mail: jwjones1
March 25, 1998 at 12:54:47 (EST)
|
| if you a superstar/im universal,with no rehersal/my milky ways got you begging to go back to cana-day/go by without an mc professing he nice/i rap rings around them like saturn/i'm prepared to take you on live any year like john madden/that's it you had it/go back to the drawing board/this time try to write rhymes/but stay from abroad/superstars can't shine if the sun come out/but the sun cant exist without the universe/no doubt! |
|
Name: Phoenix
From: Brooklyn/Flatbush
E-Mail: harmony357
March 25, 1998 at 10:03:24 (EST)
|
My Manifestation,
Causes Destruction,
To ALL Wicked Civilizations,
A Stance Of Mere Elevation,
Through Extreme Concentration,
Called Meditation,
The Pain Inflicted To Imposters Is A burning Sensation,
Perhaps,
The Spliting of Lyricist into 2 Halves is similar to Bi-Aps,
When Thier Lungs Callapse,
And Thier Molecules Disburst,
Throughout the Universe,
All Through The Words Of My First Verse,
Do Not Panic,
Or Act Estatic,
For This Lyrical Sourcerer, Divine Warrior Has Had it...
This Is Dedicated To ALL My Asian Peeps... Who Said Chinese Peeps Can't Rhyme.. *Smile* Peace n Blessings..
|
|
Name: pyREXf.o.r.d. aka strike3 of P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S.
From: chi-illa
E-Mail: pyrexford
March 25, 1998 at 04:07:09 (EST)
|
yo, i flow from the PACIFICS/
with styles that are intrinsic/
my linguistics feed the need for upliftment/
yo, illuminated/
with the knowledge thats obsorbed and utilized/
cuttin' down blind minds so their brain is curcumsized/
from, excercised tides that bind,
to intertwine lines/
combined to refine/
or civilize unpurified souls that sigh/
higher senses imobilized/
a disguise is how they improvise/
their eyes see video lies, broadcasted nationwide/
they hear the cries from the inside/
wishin' fame or wealth was simply magnatised/
their baptised, by the wise never ever to be critisised/
just to help another brother keep his head high/
you wanna ask why?/
cuz even in the chi people die for this material high/
so i pufy and give props to all the peeps who don't try/
soldify the realness to realize to be amongst the chosen ones when the lights cross the sky...... |
|
Name: Dezert Demon
From: Tucson, AZ
E-Mail:
March 24, 1998 at 20:28:37 (EST)
|
Ya done did it, ya went and pissed-off tha Demon, now ya foreva screamin in eternal dreamin/
Have some semon, suck my nutz til ya jaws collapse, silly bitch it's a cinch 2 bust these raw raps/
Relax, I only battle wit those who got skillz, so walk away, bro, before somebody gets killed/
Blood spillz from tha gillz of these sheisty sharks, biting my rhymez while they hide in tha dark/
Sparks from the flash of my mind bussin shots, ricochets thru ya brain, now what tha bloodclot/
Bodies rot from tha thought of my mystical powa, my soul is like tha bud on a poisonous flowa/
A showa of herbs rain from Nerds'R'Us, tryina compete wit philosophical murdereras/
Please, I neva heard of a nerd who rhymes,
My wordz stop time, bust mindz, and drop mimez/
On they back as I attack wit tha gold verbal axe, I swing and chop like a maniac lumbajack/
Now, who's that in tha shadowz starin at you, if it be me, bow down 2 tha Voodoo... |
|
Name: Shorty
From: Chicago
E-Mail: mumbw
March 24, 1998 at 18:10:07 (EST)
|
| Let me take you for a ride/I'm spectacular/rap legend like an ACURA/flip mc's with ease just like a geo tracker/drive u insane with my poetic steering wheel/never CUTLASS like an OLDS but I'm makin MO BILLZ/buffalo souljah, cruise the land like a TOYOTA/you way out of your RANGE like a ROVER/unloada/lyrical gat/watch me cock it back/mo lyrics than spokes on the average CADILLAC/true dat/poetic scholar/out to make a dollar/keep it phat like the rims on a forest green IMPALA/I'll holla/Yo! I freak the styles crazy/I BENZ everywhere just like a MERCEDES/mc's I tackle/yo style I'll shackle/and just like a PLYMOUTH, I make you DODGE my shadow/rattle like an 83 CHEVETTE kind of scary/break it down like a FORD I Flow Or Ryme Daily/cause when I start speaking/I make you start beepin/NAVIGATE with me, lets take an EXPEDITION/Leave yo style ashamed like this freak I know/use to call her Tasha now theY call her TAHOE/You on the run like a BRONCO but I stay true/like BUICK make you wanna PARK yo style on the AVENUE/PEACE! |
|
Name: DrunkenSi-Fu aka BKO
From: City of winds........
E-Mail: bkone
March 24, 1998 at 14:07:31 (EST)
|
| This rap finatics bustin ass-kick installations/ deeper than penitration/ colder than Himalayin/ i was made for mics, like bricks was made for layin/ and by the way sun......Today's word's Humiliation/ but this ain't no playhouse/ and I damn sure aint no PeeWee/ still cant see me/ i travel light like a bikini/ I dream of Jeani/ Most emcees dream to be me/ unfortunatly they ass is farther than tahiti/im stayin windy, yo in my city/ anymark try to diss me/ gets twisted quicker than a titi/ so try and test me/ my shit is sick like epilepsy/if most niggas is paddelin/ im flyin on a jetski/ two steps ahead, see/ in other words B/fuck enemies up like tipsy/K.O.ed like Soda Popinski/ but this ain't PunchOut/ and if it is, im undisputed/ I play emcees like Italy, they simply get the boot kid....... |
|
Name: XXX
From: Strong Island
E-Mail: ms104
March 24, 1998 at 02:30:34 (EST)
|
| My metaphorical oracles will soon be historical/ my stories are real not foklorical/ my presence heroical/ your rhymes are deplorable/ my rise is emminent while your's is rhetorical/ you're mentally unfit/ lyrically unequipped/ claim to drop knowledge but still talkin bullshit/ I'll lyrically thrash you/ physically bash you/ and when I'm through I'll harass and smash your crew/ In this game of rap there's a new world order/ where I'm at the top and fake MC's get slaughtered/ I kick ill lyricals/ like Gospels, mad spiritual/ my style is unpredictable/ my reign is so empirical/ my patterns undetectable/ so tasty I'm delectable/ my lyrics unforgettable/ our battles - for you regrettable/ see, my style is mad simple - you lose/ which type of execution? - you choose/ 'cause I'm a legend worldwide, known as bald-head slick / MC's who don't agree can come and suck my dick/ 'cause your bitches, who run or go down mad quick/ that's means no respect for you or your weak-ass clique/ I fear no one/ ain't tryin' to hear no one/ I rape bitch-niggas for fun/ so you better know where I'm from/ yeah, it's time you recognize my rise symbolizes your demise |
|
Name: Sarad Davenport
From: Charlottesville, Virginia
E-Mail: SDaven
March 23, 1998 at 20:56:58 (EST)
|
Rappers 16 bit,
Im 32 and automatic/Lyrical Miracles, Listeners Think its magic.
More than your ears can behold, is in my scroll/ More than a psycic can profess is in my soul.
Too many getting money, don't know who to thank/ too many intelligent minds are locked in the clank.
Heating me up like a kettle, Rock like heavy metal/ brothers orthodox, Niggas thinking like rebels.
Im like Bobby Knight when I spit/Or like Lawrence Taylor, Crushing Rushers when I hit.
Suns Going from Negitive to Negitive,
Who wanna Live/ Say what I wanna say, its my Perogitive.
Haven't got to the R AP polls/ went Komakazi like Japs in the Survivor Scrolls.
Ima stimulate like Chris Tuckers Mental State/ on my stolen bootleg, black market Friday Tape.
Got gimics,
Plus got mimics/
Players in the wrong game, like Tiger Woods trying Tennis.
Butchers back stabbing,
Phoney rappers rapping/
Witnesses lose they mind,
Don't know what happened.
Dedicated To all Them Wanna Be Emcee's. |
|
Name: Ell Ness/NonSequitur from Left Field
From: CT/Wake Forest
E-Mail: nichet00
March 23, 1998 at 14:22:10 (EST)
|
Rhymes are branded on your brain
No choice but to remember/
When on the mic I’m quick to terrorize like Black September/
in Munich/
I’m bring the flavor for your unit/
I got the rhymes to get a vestal virgin out her tunic/
Or nuns out their habits/
Make ‘em start fu*king like rabbits/
Cutting rappers off like John Wayne Babbit/
I meant Bobbit/
You’re pint size like the Hobbit/
Misogynistic Linguistics
make you my bitch object/
Like Margot Kidder, you run and hide behind the bushes
Put my foot up your ass and have you shitting Nike swooshes/
Wear my yamaka to Hanukah and beat you with a dredle/
Smack rappers ass backwards from the grave to the cradle/
Upon hearing my lyrics Mc’s erect diptychs and triptychs/
I embarrass and harass rappers in their own residential districts/
My advice is to keep it to yourself like autistics/
you want to battle me you must be masochistic/
Can’t see me on Micatastraphe, last time I pitched a shutout/
You know you’ll get your ass kicked that’s why you stuck your butt out/
|
|
Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx/Cornell
E-Mail: rug1
March 23, 1998 at 08:43:44 (EST)
|
| I start spitting, multiple collisions from banging archives of my compositions/ flipping old school renditions with mad conviction/ captivating the crowds division/ within the vision of obtaining top rank position, holding down my division with lyrical ammunition/ casket fitting your dumb ass for bullshitting/ now just shut the fuck up and listen/ alright whats missing/........./ Fuck it, even my intermissions hitting/ within written prescriptions, fitting with an addicts addiction, cooked in hells kitchen/ causing verbal submission, to bitch ass competition/ spitting infinite hollow tip non fictional diction/ lyrics causing friction as they're ripping through this faggot opposition/with 16 bar precision spotted with infared emmisions/ binary fission got these niggas splitting/ yeah you was in the mixing but now it's time for your eviction/ taking it hard like a gay christian living in an all male mission/ so stop your bitching and throwing fits like coniption/ think about it nigga, whats your decision/ either, come against this iron fist lyracist/ my omnipotence of linguistic sense/ exist infinite since cannibus first touched lips/ or just quit, and realize your skills aint shit, bitch. |
|
Name: Praxis from Left Field
From: Queens/Wake Forest
E-Mail: jonekr00
March 22, 1998 at 23:05:10 (EST)
|
When I master blast you Mak, you fly like sawdust/
I take vocab from my head, you go and run for a thesaurus/
To get the lyrical ignition for your wack diction/
Who contradicts more, Thedosious or second term politicians?/
Maybe Heracleitus and Parmenides/
I get all the perks while you, you get none of the amenaties/
A rebel pausin' not in your vecinity/
battlin' me? better first go watch Sense and Sensibility/
You find out I got Kerri Sturg type agility/
you can go as far as injure me but that still won't impair my ability/
Forget the Pope and Cuba leave 'em lost like you in cyphers/
Shit on MC's so much that I brought an extra pack of diapers/
and still left brown streaks on each and every one of 'em/
The smell got so bad that i sprayed lysol right in front of 'em/
Keep it real/ What the Deal/ Packin steel/ Foscheazy/
There's no cliche' in my vocabulary/
You better of battlin some flimsy tyke on the mic/
If you a super mc, them i'll be kryptonite/
Mak I handle you easily, It's Prax, who's next/
My rhymes f**k you so hard on the net you think it's cybersex/
|
|
Name: ANonymouS
From: Bronx/Cornell
E-Mail: rug1
March 22, 1998 at 15:46:26 (EST)
|
| Who thinks their raw and dares to declare war, I came to settle scores tap jaws and lay down laws, putting faggots on all fours, tied up with mic chords, dropped drawers, ripped like whores, left repeatedly gorged, on floors hiding behind source awards and videos, pimping flows like gatter boot hoes in glass stilletoes, predator, the ghetto rebel, all time greats, bust raps while you masterbate with weak acts, and pre ejaculate before contact, In verbal combat I push wigs back until it reach your ass crack, shitting from the sudden impact, from getting clapped by the big pred, tapping clones like feds do phones, maricons, are prone to catch stitches until its shown, I got this rap game sown, from gold to chrome, from don corleone to al capone, from kings to thrones, from caves to stones, from christs bones to the great unknown, words get thrown till the source runs out of microphones, your airlights domes, will get flown till DMC runs his home, In my zone heads get blown like hookers with vocal tones, until it is finally known, cabrone, dont bring it on. |
|
Name: Mason
From: Harlem World!!!
E-Mail: Mase@Badboy/Speech Therapy/.com
March 22, 1998 at 01:18:32 (EST)
|
Yeah, baby harlem on the rise!!!!/
You don't really wanna problem with us guys/
Got my man killa kam with me/
And my crew KFC that's much betta than me/
Me and P-Ditty rollin' through ya citty/
Some people call me wack others think i'm shitty/
I pour moet in my cereal for breakfast/
And got every wack mc alive on my checklist/
Oh look!! there i am, #1 on top/
But it don't matter, i'll sell a million goin' pop/
Got me and my people and the Lox in the lex/
And i can't spell money, power, nor respect/
Did you see my roley, while i smoke my cigara/
I'm a homosexual, i toss ensalada/
Oh him over there, honey that's ya baby fatha?/
I called him yesterday, i'm gonna fuck him manana/
I guess i'll go smoke some more La La/
Then go to the west coast and buy an impala/
Most white fans don't know what hip hop is/
I drop a wack single and knew that badboy lives/
I wish this pain would go away...
|
|
Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 21, 1998 at 22:04:18 (EST)
|
bring it cause here i am
give me ya best shot try to win
put it all on the line and hope it dont fall
cause hip hop is what i am thats why i stand tall
pround of what it means and i wont ever go wack
when im not on the tables the mic i attack
so the next time you want to tell me who i be
shut ya mouth cause im nothing but a super emcee
your quick to judge but ya the first to quit
ya not sure if ya original or wack what ya need is a hip hop surival kit
listen to the native tounges and learn from krs one
then check it on the one cause on wed the 25th yo com is going to come. |
|
Name: Praxis from Left Field
From: Queens/Wake Forest
E-Mail: jonekr00
March 21, 1998 at 20:33:36 (EST)
|
Classes of companies lead to lyrical confusion/
Leavin' crowds in conundrums causin' crazy collusion/
Contusions are caused when canvases collide with craniums/
Convincin' conventions to blow the spot like uranium/
Ceramic sissies i break 'em and burn 'em till they crispy/
Controllin' computations Little Rock to Pukispsky/
Confucious concludes that my creation is corrosive/
crammin' 'em in crevases controlling consequences/
No contraception stops the conception of my connection/
capturing culprits who can falsely claim correction/
when i carry microphones, crews coo for curtain calls/
reducing combersome conglomerates down to a crawl/
i'm cognisant of cognates coercing coeds/
my co-defendants coexistance can concern the feds/
bi-costal conflicts conflict with the true conviction/
that cedes cessation of the lyrical prescription |
|
Name: Master Sage
From: Valparaiso, IN
E-Mail: stevec
March 21, 1998 at 17:46:59 (EST)
|
Check my style,
My rhymes flow eternal like the Nile,
I heard you for a while,
Then changed my radio dial.
You're comin loud, like "Sonic Boom" by Guile,
But you're just too proud, having never walked the mile,
Of a real emcee, that be me, salutin Hip-Hop like Sieg-Hiel
You're actin like you're God, but you're freaky as a pedophile,
Ya heard me, that's right. You'd even make ho's sick,
Would you please write some new shit and get off Co-Flow's dick?
I should put you on trial,
Judge says: Guilty as charged,
Of frontin and fakin with wackness at large.
Add your file to the pile,
Of weak rappers, yo, you have to dial,
A hotline to get your rhymes, you know you can't freestyle.
My rhymes are those that motivate,
They cause the planet to rotate,
You know you can't negotiate,
Master Sage is more appropriATE,
Ya see, I never hesitate,
To simply set the record straight,
While you write wack rhymes and masturbate,
I'll decide the world's fate. |
|
Name: NonSequitur/Elliot Ness of Left Field
From: CT/Wake Forest
E-Mail: nichet00
March 21, 1998 at 16:11:51 (EST)
|
My verbal juxtaposition/
within my composition causes competition/
to rush home and create new editions
When I battle know I'm quick to take a rapppers honor/
If they come wack like Puffy, Consequence or Cappadonna/
Plus I'm ravishing and ruthless
yet relaxed and refined/
Really I reach to find a reason you could
wreck with rhymes/
when at my worst a whip a wimp enough to make the wacker wary/
and at best I blast and break and bash
than brutalize and bury/
Now watch me rhyme long like the way to
Tipperary/
The Lyrical visionary/
On the mic I thrust and parry/
Rhymes from Ness are always necessary/
Even Common comments/
that Left Fielders represent
Check the evidence it's clearly evident
|
|
Name: Aarnette
From: Baltimore City
E-Mail: Awelch1
March 21, 1998 at 13:32:42 (EST)
|
My moms giving birth to me while my dad rushing in to see.
Its the 70's and people singing Let's Get It On and A Quiet Storm.
Doctors trying to find a cure for people, who are deformed, and the Bullets are scoring.
This is just something that I am flowing for a battle and the strangers.
I'm rough and tough, for a female I get props and free sprite tops.
I dont waste time and I am not fake, I shake my booty on the dance floor like a Milkshake.
From the 80s and the 90s things changed.
They used to start off with Once upon a time on a flow, now you get looked at like you are strange.
You have to be a thug who smoke week til your head falls off.hmmmm.
Im not dissin/fussin/or cussin/ to get my point across.
Nasdaq's going down like Mary J.
While my flows are worth more than my stoks, brothas get jealous and now I am cock blocked. |
|
Name: DrunkenSi-Fu aka BKO
From: City of winds......
E-Mail:
March 21, 1998 at 03:20:27 (EST)
|
| mics is kinda nice when you rip cuts wit percision/my intermission /includes a crash coarse in collision/ invision this ism/ inhale it into your system/feel the wrath of my mass/i hold a flo like a maxi/i leave emcees breakin out like acne/when they tryin to ask me/ how I gets so f_ckin nasty/ raps is colder than iceland/i send emcees home takin rap vitamins/one for your wack atempts on bustin acronyms/the others for tryin to get over on the lyrical alchamist..... |
|
Name: Dee Phunk
From: Strong Island, NY
E-Mail: deephunk
March 20, 1998 at 16:34:57 (EST)
|
Sentences commence with strong support,
Held together with creativity and the lyrics I brought,
Also not to mention, focus your attention,
or get served with 5 years of rap game suspension.
You'll have time to think about the dss of my rhymes,
And how dumb you were to attempt to try and clone mine.
Duplication is prohibited even though it's flattering,
Just make sure ready when I send your whole crew scattering.
Mentally weak cats get offended by me,
When I flip the whole script and enter in their brain cavity.
To let them know it was me, whose ill flow you see, gets defined as intellectually stimulating dope poetry.
And you can't argue the fact that you are definitely learnin',
Cuz I can go on for days like Baptist church sermons...
-dee ph! Upstarts '98 |
|
Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 20, 1998 at 00:51:58 (EST)
|
a battle is what everybody seeks
but half of flowin is how the emcee speeks
sure you can vote on whats read
but its a ture battle when its said
dont get me wrong i love this site
im just thrusty for a good fight
so you wack emcees write and edit ya rhymes real quick
try ya hardest but it wont mean dick
cause in the end the real emcee will come out on top
after i get my votes i wont stop
i'll be back to flow again
even if i lose or win
so someone step up cause right now the battle will begain
|
|
Name: pyREXf.o.r.d of strike3 P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S.
From: chi-illa
E-Mail: pyrexford
March 19, 1998 at 20:07:29 (EST)
|
i ran rhymes like marathons/
not stoppin' on octagons/
hella raw rappas rappin' tougher than teflon/
like a napalm explosion/
theres mad corosion of the choosen/
coastin' while in motion smokin' fools while they be boastin'/
im hopin' that your jokin', jokin' is what im hopin'/
cuz your startin' to make me salty, yo like my name was morton/
your flauntin' like bimbos/
im layin' low like limbos/
got you cookin' on my skillet cuz im sizzlin' like some crisco/
but this yo, naturally be commin' simple/
thats exactly the issue when i be seekin' like missles/
so i will not miss you, when i brake it down like some syllables/
rhymes to sabliminal for minds that are to pitiful/
flippin' the illa flows which consists of minerals/
whereas these otha bros add flava thats much to artificial/
these unofficial, once a month menstral mentals/
the ones you deal with kidd, who kill for rockin' benzos......... |
|
Name: pyREXf.o.r.d aka strike3 of P.A.C.I.F.I.C.S.
From: chi-illa
E-Mail: pyrexford
March 19, 1998 at 05:01:36 (EST)
|
HERE IS SOME FOOD FOR SOUL, REALITY:
i catch wrecks like my name states/
to penetrate through ill mind states of wantin' to hate their same race or populace/
so i, cerabrate to manipulate/
these shady individuals, negativity be their only daily ritual/
its visible, the way they take things to critical/
cuz anything so simple may be much to subliminal/
their peripherals, are caught up with cataracts/
when i progress jealousy seems to attack/
from these enveous cats who be stabbin' backs for rackin' up stacks/
always talkin' shit like their life was just a game of craps/
thats the ill facts kid, got me formatin'/
bytes of memory from when they bit rhymes for flattery/
and salary, like amy they aimlessly be chasin'/
when they facin me, they straight get shook up like epilepsy/
see, their in this world of misdirection and misconception/
oh, and i thought i should mention that it comes in milliseconds/
they feelin' restless, breathless no time for rest kids/
shit is unpredictable like rodman joinin' wrestlin'/
they testin, my patience like doctors, but yo just face it/
they useless like old pintos in need of high maintance/
so awakeness y'all, you need to start straight up from skratch/
cuz im like a black cat, yo you've crossed the wrong path....... |
|
Name: pyREXford of P.A.C.I.F.C.S.
From: chi-illa
E-Mail: pyrexford
March 18, 1998 at 17:06:35 (EST)
|
i brainstorm, out of the norm its uncontrolable/
unfoldable like portables to listen to my principles/
when, the Rx steps in with the prescriptions for the dictions to cure wackness like penicillin with injection/
infection of your section be upsettin'/
so let intellect project to be your weapon/
cuz only seconds its takes to shake with verbal tactics/
to ones actin' like bitches which is why i call them actresses/
the fact is that, you be starvin' for what im harvestin'/
the crops of true hip hop so, yo stop garden/
me, so pardon me when i make emcees be missin' in action/
cuz they be p.o.w's the prisoners of wackness/
but i take no prisoners just listeners of what im speakin'/
and got you actin' like dru barrymore when you be screamin'/
and reachin' for destiny within' the best of me/
seekin' like missles, i will not miss you if your within' my trajectory/
see, i go 180 degrees to the pacific is where i land in the P.I. without the magnum just a free mind that inclines....... |
|
Name: Brother Ahmad
From: Middle East
E-Mail: prince99
March 18, 1998 at 12:16:34 (EST)
|
| Hold on to your thoughts like a dream catcher/Give me the microphone and witness disaster/annonymous soul snatcher/Don't kiss ass to no coast/hold contempt while you boast/get on stage and rip microphone into 4 4th/What you thought you found was lost and I got the better half/macking fake ass death threats with your staff/only makes me laugh/And as a matter of fact, your thoughts aren't worth two cents/anybody can invent/but it takes a man to go agaist the grain and represent/common sence, right on the edge of the border/intellectual like Soucrates, making the weak argument stronger/why ponder, when hot air is what you blasting/give ways to the most intelligent microphone assasin.. |
|
Name: DJ Twon feat. Southwest Samurai
From: Reps 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
March 17, 1998 at 23:07:41 (EST)
|
Ayo I took that first kid out 5-1
You just can't challenge this shit…
uh yo yo...
your lack of vocabulary is evident in your lyrical ailment/
step across my nigguhs and be faced with imminent derailment/
Curtailment/
of your freshman style is a necessity
quickly putting an end to your homosexual activity/
can't fool me, I saw you take part in the Gay Pride Festivity/
I possess a lockdown on your shit like it was in captivity/
you fail to damage me/
rhymes that flow so fast they defy Special Relativity/
I bring cannons to bear, targeting your vulnerability/
attracting all kinds of bitches due to increased molecular negativity/
oops, did i drain the last of your creativity?
hmm, must of been my brainwave super conductivity/
latina harem so large i form a simile:
"It's kinda like Borg collectivity"/
your rhyme is old, i'm a constant with my hiphop ingenuity/
i lay back in my furs and enjoy your girlfriends promiscuity/
she'd better have hands like Titan if she plans to f*ckin handle me/
nigguh, between you and me there's a gross inequality...
Represent Southwest Samurai
|
|
Name: DJ Twon feat. Southwest Samurai
From: Representing 520-AZ
E-Mail: andarge
March 17, 1998 at 17:02:48 (EST)
|
snap back attack my sound tracks flashback to days when money was alcohol so pass that/
flip the script with double whips bound blacks resist cotton picker wages like waiter tips/
with breakneck speed proceed to disable your seed watch the outerspace vacuum make your blood boil while you bleed/
lyrical style arranged with skills empirical engaged in wars with criminal
elements that seek to destroy this nation under one God indivisible/
rock with latinas in short smocks that desire cock ok bitch here comes two nuts under your chin as big as cement blocks/
vaults i invade label me jr. wu-tang renegade take this sharp pointed spade cause you'll be digging your own grave/
the hesitation means I'm putting space in between yours and mine, you gay arts and crimes, with a vengence I conquer time/
100,000 watt airwaves reach them nigguhs living in underground caves, mission to destroy alternative rave,
invade my space boldly, come with meaningful rhymes not guns i will behold thee, I handle swords like the shinobi/
your mastermind is pathetic, verbal garb is synthetic, like rayon, your sister was so wet it felt like fu*king teflon, word is bond...
|
|
Name: dj_irb aka EnB
From: New Ham
E-Mail: irb
March 16, 1998 at 17:43:26 (EST)
|
The E to the N-B/
rips heads off lyrically/
when they come at me/
with wack ass rhymes/
making me laugh hysterically/
braggin' 'bout crimes in your lines that's weak/
I've done illa things in my sleep/
then half these punks in the street/
Try to imagine Impending doom/
which I create while in R.E.M. in my room/
the size of which expands like a moth from a cacoon/
with the tension of a showdown at high noon/
and a fear that your life might end soon/
Now tell me this tought ain't ill/
I got the same thoughts as those who kill/
I release this aggresion while i doze/
thusly I chill in the face of foes/
when it comes to wack styles/
I'm like the garbageman cause i dispose/
of mediocre mc's and their fabrications/
I try and avoid altercations/
cause my time is not worth waisting/
but some still want a taste and/
I hit 'em with the mathmatics/
thats more complex than base-10/
shit that'll leaves a psychological abrasion/ |
|
Name: Martian
From: Chicago
E-Mail: mmedin7
March 15, 1998 at 23:06:50 (EST)
|
Style wars in Chicago are as Common as gang Conflict
I get Crucial when I Twista rhyme with an educated dialect
Within my religious sect reside Joes, Moes, and Folks
So I Just Ro(ll) with No I.D.entity through Infinity
Out for the dollars like Hustlers resting solid on 4 Corners
On September 13, 1996 every broad I knew became a Tupac mourner
In a town of Jews you can get the ghetto fashions from the Arabs
Habib's selling fake Guess? Jeans, Mike Jordan Air jackets and skull caps
The Windy City raps with fierce winds and negative wind Chills
This Is How We when I'm at a Rhymefest getting Juice from cipher skills
And eventually my raps will be like Jenny Jones and be Syndicated
I make Power Moves like E.C.illa with the Ill rhymes I've Stated
On Track with the Legend, I Shock the World when I'm Toxic
Lately I've Been Thinking with Sean Lett and Rashid about the same topic
My Taste of Chicago is a freestyle of abstract metaphors
I remember breakers performing on sidewalks but now it's just folklore
But I want to holler at Chantay Savage and "Give It To Ya" with love
This city is Do or Die and I Love H.E.R. like the 1st emcee mentioned above |
|
Name: Mak
From: SE Wis.
E-Mail: lyricist
March 14, 1998 at 22:27:08 (EST)
|
Through fiber optic communication I present this rhyme or INCANTATION/
check this SPELL you can't if you had a Microsoft Works station/
yes you fight a lost cause because like a red eight sided figure/
I stop your flow like menopause your whole system reconfigure/
set your settings on default because victory's a foreign land/
and I'm the extra terrestrial bringing alienation to the band/
or pool of MC's I piss in it but don't try to swim in my lines/
because deeper than ankle depth you drown in text let the scavenger fish dine/
sign on the dotted line I told the devil but found he hadn't enough soul/
to feed me a 16-year old MC but I rhyme through eyes of a 70 year old/
so don't astound me with historical facts you'll find my material in cuneiform/
your lyrical storm?ha, i strike a mic 3 times in the same coordinate my palm/
I perambulate through you like a hologram so till now conflict unseen/
yet you try to ruffle more of my feathers than a First Down jacket in the machine/
|
|
Name: iLLosophy
From: Chicago (Champaign 4 school)
E-Mail: gprieste
March 14, 1998 at 02:09:53 (EST)
|
I attack foes with counter blows
I'm ready to stab your pressure points and make you lose your pose
Swift blows to the nose
Krack ya knees back an reveal ya pantyhoes
I seen the bitch in you like Common told that nigga that froze
You need to kill that noise that you thrust
before I stick sound-proof glass down your esophogus
and crush your voice box
Nigga your grades dropped
you no longer have an A like Vivica Fox You received a fat F minus
Like a virgin I'm the tighest
Polluting Hip Hop with that exhaust,
you need to go to midas
and get a tune up
I heard your tape and like gang signs,
I threw up
But I got ya rigged and like Toni Braxton's career,
you blew up
You knew what? You know nothing
Except your body looks like a pile of Stove Top Stuffing
I bust my nuts on ya crew in even proportions
Rape all there styles and they'll receive no abortions
Cuz Three Hundred and Fifteen dollars is worth all their souls
I eat webster dictionaries and drop rhymes out my asshole |
|
Name: Saukar
From:
E-Mail:
March 12, 1998 at 21:41:41 (EST)
|
Why we gotta do this? Battle to get some type of prosperity
Like animals in a cage who just got a chance to release hostility?
Whatever, playa. You can take how you want it
But you've been warned about the way the way that I'm about to leave you blunted
I dont front at all. I knock MCs off of the wall
Treat 'em like cheap displays of cologne in the mall
Use them up and them step. I never wanted any static
A las, its killed or be killed...and God, I get estatic |
|
Name: Double Helix
From: DALLAS, TEXAS!!
E-Mail: oldboombap
March 12, 1998 at 20:57:37 (EST)
|
this soul man at 12 o'clock,
soulless and varitable half-cock,
twisted mathematics and no definition gained,
from quality lyrics, this kid lay restrained,
talkin bout he download somebody mainframe, - - laughable - -
I lunge forward and you spill your lunch coward,
in a burst of speckled verbs you end up showered, - - overpowered - -
So I pick you up and dust you off,
give you a fair chance,
with your low level skill, aint no such,
out ya mouth I snatch the dutch,
It aint helping ya rhymes none, so dont bother,
rather, I give you MY voice box and let you spit my own shit back at me!
that'll even it up but it might cost ya...
soul and spirit..
now you dont wanna get near it,
run on home and tell that Dallas kid,
Double Helix comin'...
AND TO FEAR IT!
Double Helix - -
Dallas TEX represent yo...
|
|
Name: Maddhatta
From: Chicago, ILLANOIZE
E-Mail: WhuSpot
March 10, 1998 at 23:05:09 (EST)
|
My mentality is fatality/
writin'' phat rhymes on micatastrophe/
I drop bombz like in World War 3/
Bacdafuckup kid, you can't spar wit' me!
I slap thee in the face/
cut off your tounge cuz you got no taste/
This is a tournament, and yea,I'm phuccin' rockin' first place.
But enough about me yo, how about you?/
I heard you fucked scooby doo!/
Soall doors cuz my crew is comin' through.
I got combos like 1-2/
your shit is sick like the flu/
and straight up stinky like some cat poo-poo.
My composition scratched your profile/
you sure you wanna throw down?/
I'm pound-for-pound in gold/
Your shit is old now.
I'm on some new and improved shit/
some wiggle and move shit/
I'm makin' raw hits/
much love to Common Sense.
From the C-H-IC, the A-G-O/
Originatin' from Puerto Rico/
And I got rythm like Tito.
Mr. Puente/
No intiende?/
my rhymes flow like a fuente...
a fountain/
I'm poundin'/
you clownin'/
"Lord, tell it on the mountain!!"
That the Maddhatta came/
and he left whack MC's lyrical migraines...
peace
|
|
Name: Mak
From: SE Wis.
E-Mail: lyricist
March 09, 1998 at 19:56:10 (EST)
|
your rhymes are uniform like Catholic-school girls in a communist economy/
my philology leaves you no choice, a legalized monopoly/
collect 400, MC souls I stand on WENT while you still on GO/
I'm so next but not in line no more cause I cut the punks that sold/
out, your rhymes limited like a quota though, a hip hop quotable/
out of your reach like if you were a migit in a lavetory stall/
keep trying but just getting pissed on like retirement home nurses/
I get pissed off diminish you yes-men by paying donot's through inverses/
out of geometrical shape few degrees short of a circle at last line you confused/
enthusied think its a compliment,well you're not right so your screws/
are loose like vaginatalia of parental units in snaps/
if you are lungs, I'm Kovorkian's respirator and you colapse/
halftime of my rhyme like an apartment constant while Publishers Clear Houses/
on fatty degeneration I fill my blood bank so release grammatical louses/
your spouse's diaphragm couldn't contain my penetration/
"rape" she screamed just unavoidable impregnatation/
so congratulations you bless the mic well I just blessed your whole family tree/
and fumigated the termites from the veins of your ancestery's incestry/ |
|
Name: FreeLance
From: strong island
E-Mail: freelance69
March 09, 1998 at 03:08:47 (EST)
|
destroy u like puffy did hip hop
can't quit till free's bumpin, knock krs off the top
fuck platinum i'm after b double
yeah i used to love her, pop that ass a bubble
gettting drunk, i'm always chaarged for verbal mischief
double u only wish u could ryhme half as swift
heat up the track like dantes peak
slam that ass like the iron sheak
hit you up with the camel clutch, don't puff lie so i lets my peeps cut you up lika a dutch
aahes fall to the ground, your brains scatter
as u sit and listen, with knowledge your head gets fatter
fakin more moves than a mime
4 u i ain't got the time
i can cut off your ryhmes at the drop of a dime
so you go platinum, i'm for real like de la,
causin stress like organized, diggin in that ass for flava
so sit back and laugh, hold your head high while u can
tear up your sole and outlaw you like contra band
to be continued
|
|
Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 08, 1998 at 16:33:09 (EST)
|
Knowledge is power, few know that
Its no doubt your lyrics are phat
How can you do it? Your beats are true
Your messages so profound, you leave others without a clue
Ten years, and still blasting strong
Never producin1 a wick-wak song
Party people in the place to be, KRS-ONE attacks
Your skills will never lack
The style, the true message, the straight forward rap
You be ripping styles others cant see
With that super phat crew called BDP!
Talking about the sound of that cop
You have blown up, and will never go pop
Boogie down was performing, and it aint no joke
Your poetic styles make weak MCs choke
Rockin the mic for a decade now, fast and quick
Eatin1 MCs up like nothin
The day hell gets cold, is the day you be frontin
But that will never happen, no way
Your mental health is strong, always got something to say
Just when puny MCs think they have won
They get ripped up by Blast Master KRS-ONE
|
|
Name: Martian
From: Chicago
E-Mail: mmedin7
March 07, 1998 at 21:40:35 (EST)
|
You spit subpar limmericks filled with gimmicks that's finite
While I'm infinite with no limits - I'm continuous
Lessons of calculus because my eliteness is the derivative of your incompleteness
Squared because my roots are in the Chi
Like Alex Haley or that group from Illedeplhi
I burn like Marijuana smoke, so take a toke
Because "da da duh duh duh duh ... it's the joint"
There's no point to dodge this ass whipping pertaining to my sabbatical of the actual factual
Thinking to yourself - "Why did I ever battle you?"
Your cranial cavity capacity is a vacuole as I combat you
And splatter your clavicle into anti-matter
It seems Magic(al) the way I dish out verbal assaults
I give any emcee the shakes like the San Andreas fault
Your nervous system isn't feasable to feel my counter reaction
To your feable initial reaction
I'll take away your skills like subtraction
I'm an example of the faction of battle rapping
Because I talk more shit than Oprah's toilet
Your reply's like Reynold's because I foiled it
My rhymes are a realistic mirage of a barrage that hits hard
In this ceremony I'm the master like Farad
I'm coming off like condoms inserted into vaginas squirted
Ebonic retorts to my vicious blows like, "Dat shit hurted"
|
|
Name: Steve 'Flash' Juon
From: Midwest!
E-Mail: dj.flash
March 07, 1998 at 03:31:44 (EST)
|
Weak cyphers with rhyme snipers try to recreate Resurrection
Style biters and snake rhymers suffer the ultimate inspection
when the lyrical contestin causes the esophigal congestion
and the punch power of original lyrics caves in they midsection
Like the brain of Albert Einstein you find it hard to dissect then
you realize your wack mistake but now it's too late cause you stepped in
So feel the wrath like the Golden State Warriors after Latrell's ejection
after the penetration of your hoe
with this hip-hop rhyme erection
Tomorrow night in Chicago, coming to
the Metro section
Common Sense Mood Mos Def All Natural with rhyme perfection
If you ain't there you ain't down that's word to the Midwest we wreck son
Flash'll be there to say I Love H.E.R.; will you?
Don't be caught snoozin like George Jetson! Paix. |
|
Name: Tabari Douglass McCoy
From: Cincinnati, Ohio
E-Mail: dougmellow
March 06, 1998 at 17:36:09 (EST)
|
up the Mystic,
Lyric manifestations complex /
I flex,
Way beyond the realm of the simplistic /
My voice, top choice,
Wait 'till you hear my track records /
Of your 15 minutes of fame,
I'll take 14 minutes and 59 seconds /
The vocal next millenium,
Flavor for the masses,comprende /
Doug Mellow, I let you know /
I attack like a sensai /
An emcee, better than me,
Sorry, kid, it ain't gonna happen /
That's like seein' Al Sharpton pick up
the mike and start rappin' /
I got flows that de-compose those
Who chose to battle the upmost /
I go worldwide like the Internet /
You'll be lucky to go Coast to Coast /
Battle me, you might,
But you just don' move me /
You've got a better chance of seeing
Pauly Shore do a decent movie /
Enough of my bragging and boasting,
I'll finish it like this here /
This year, the planet,
The universe, next year . . .
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Name: Martian
From: Chicago
E-Mail: mmedin7
March 05, 1998 at 19:26:50 (EST)
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I rock the 3rd planet from the sun when I rhyme
And Devistate more than E.C. and Schumacher-Levi 9 combined when I touchdown
With six points like the Star of David signifying Disciples
I speak in tongues when reading from bibles and referred to in holy titles
Reciting off the top of the lid like waste recepticles
Nowadays niggas are foul like poultry or technicals
I'm a walkist because everyone ethnical is racist
And I have more genetic ties than shoelaces
So take 10 paces and turn 180 dgrees
Because I B-Real like Louis Freeze
To these pussy MC's I'm the disease like venereal without penicillin
At the UIC Pavillion I dismiss 7 figures of MC's like one million
Those who entered with Jesus pieces got dismembered
And couldn't be resurrected 4 months after December
Much like Rakim's 21 they got done in lecture centers
I Sprinted for dimes
So I could get into Wrigley field and swing off the vines
Niggas can't catch up like Heinz
Because I can't be stopped even with eight sided signs
So on my 6 sided figure I stand with middle finger arched
And I'm still on in a million even if I didn't march |
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Name: PLASTIK
From: NC
E-Mail: C SENSE21
March 05, 1998 at 15:39:31 (EST)
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I cause computer text overload,
to many mega bytes for your mainframe to downlaod,
Running interference in your central data terminal,
causing your whole system ta f@#king explode,
as I mentally reload I unfold new lines like old sheets,
This ain't true battle cuz you can alwayz hit delete,
dail 5##-504 four if you really want war,
But you mentally consipated niggas be straining,
lyrically you got shited on,
cuz you heisetated you waited to long,
you was wrong for even gettin outta of your chair,'
Cause now you stand in fear,
Your styles neva changes but minds shift like car gears,
From zero ta sixty in 1.4 I'm in your software,
I hear chears from my digital audience,
Even COM was like
"that nigga got Sense"
I dispense lyrical ass whippens,
like cops be spitin ammunition
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Name: UNKNOWN ONE
From:
E-Mail:
March 05, 1998 at 01:12:57 (EST)
|
| THE UNKNOWN ONE IS HERE TO DO BATTLE/ AND MAKE YOU RUN, ROLL, AND SKIDADDLE/ WITH YOUR PATTY WACK RHYME, YOU WEARIN' A DRESS/ AND YOU CALL ME OUT TO PUT YOU TO THE TEST/ NOW IT'S TIME TO SEE IF YOUR UP TO TASK/ MY LETHAL LINEZ LIKE POSIONOUS GAS/ VICIOUS VENOM SWELLIN' IN YOUR LUNGS/ I'LL TAKE YOUR LIFE AS WELL AS YOUR FUNDS/ YOU ONE PUMP CHUMP TRYIN' TO ATTACK/ BUT I GOTTA TELL YOU SON, YOUR SHIT IS WACK/ THE TOXIN I SPIT WHEN I PULL THE TRIGGA/ KILLIN' YOU SOFT YOU PUNK ASS NIGGA/ MY VERBAL ASSAULT IS VICIOUS LIKE A SNAKE/ ANY PROPS YOU GET I'LL GLADLY TAKE/ OFF YOUR HANDZ AND CUT OFF YOUR HEAD/ WITH MY RAZOR SHARP TONGUE PIERCIN' YOU DEAD/ I BRING THE PAIN AS THE MAN KNOWN AS METH/ COLD COMIN' AT YA LIKE THE ANGEL OF DEATH/ THE CHALLENGE YOU PUT UP, YEAH YOU THREW IT UP/ STEP TO THE STAGE, TOO LATE I BLEW IT UP/ YOUR FINAL THOUGHT BEFORE YOU DIE/ STEPPIN' TO ME YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE TRIED |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 04, 1998 at 20:04:55 (EST)
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like house of pain im on point
not like cypress hill i dont need a joint
to deal with R.E.A.L.I.T.Y yes rhymes do egual actual lifes in the youth.
words from KRS ONE he speaks the truth
so i can be a midnight maurador like tribe
but with my own original flavor so feel the vibe
Im the wrong nigga to fuck wit like cube
but i aint getting fucked with no lube
as a matter of fact you sucka emcees are not fucking me at all
so step up and battle cause youre about to fall
it dont matter if its with the mic, turntables or with ya fist.
all that matters is that you better run before i get pissed and you get dissed |
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Name: Dj Scooter
From: Chicago
E-Mail: sziebell
March 04, 1998 at 16:47:00 (EST)
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IT NOT WHERE YA FROM ITS WHERE YA AT
ITS NOT WHAT YA ARE IT HOW YA BAT
CAUSE LIFE IS LIKE BASEBALL BUT THERE AINT TO 3 STRIKE SHIT
YA ONLY GET ON CHANCE SO STEP UP TO THE PLATE AND GET A HIT
DONT WASTE YA TIME REPRESENTING YOU HOOD, YOUR COAST, YOUR CREW
CAUSE THE THING THAT MATTERS IT HOW YOU REPRESENT YOU
YOU CANT PLAY THE GAME FROM YOUR VIEW ON THE BENCH
YOU HAVE TO START PARTICIPATING THERES NOT TIME TO FLINCH
SO GET OFF YA LAZY ASS AND MOVTIVATE YA SELF
CAUSE I DONT KNOW ONE COUCH POTATO WHO EARNED HIS WEALTH
IF YOU DONT PRATICE AND LEARN, NOW THEN JUST HANG UM UP
TURN IN YA UNIFORM AND TAKE OUT YA CUP
YA AINT USING WHAT YOURE TRYING TO SAVE BY JUST SITTING BY
YA A DISGRACE TO YA SELF LIKE PHIFE SAID "YOURE WHOLE APPEARENCE IS A LIE"
AND WHEN YOUR TIME COMES AND THE GAMES ON THE LINE
BOTTOM OF THE 9TH AND YOURE IN A BIND
AT THE PLATE THE COUNT IS FULL AND YA FULL OF DOUBT
HERE COME THE FINAL PITCH.... YOURE OUT |
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Name: SingularSun from DOCOS
From: universal
E-Mail: golomstar
March 04, 1998 at 14:19:13 (EST)
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event horizons, i feel an influx of production/possess the gumption to generate heat induction/equations with functions lay plans for construction/the verbal volcano ripens twice for ill eruption/on blueprints i print red to scribe the instructions/tucked in lungs, my words meet air at throat junctions/fluctuations in flow fall back with breath suction/then rise, marked by red eyes and pride size reductions/inflictions of diction placed with precarious precision/i precisely entice and fondle fiction with decision/i turn cogs of cognition to increase my intuition/and excise my vanity vividly with incisions/when competition comes i turn my cheek and just listen/and slight the devil's mission with third-eyesight vision/glaze the garish and gaudy with glue till they glisten/then crack their callousness in hot kilns in my kitchen...
com-sense... respect due for keeping hip hop alive in the face of stagnation. one love. |
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Name: NI66AMORTIS
From: BOSTON,MASS
E-Mail: BIG CEL42 @ aol.com
March 03, 1998 at 20:40:03 (EST)
|
I TOLD YA NIGGAS THE 1st TIME
I REVERSE LINES, OF YOUR WORST REHEARST RHYMES, JUST TA BURST MINDS.
CATCH NUTTIN BUT RESPECT WHEN,
I SHINE LIKE REFLECTIONS, STEPPEN 2 Me DISCREPENCY
DELETE COMPLETE WEAPONARY, THE BREATH YOU BREATHE IS FATAL, ABLE TA HIT YA RIP YA NOSTRILS THROUGH YA NAVAL.
ON SOME CHANGEABLE SHIT LIKE CABLE
YALL NI66AS BUMP ME AT SUNDAY NITE DINNER
EATIN CHICKEN AT THE TABLE.
STABLE PHILOSOPIHIES AS IM TOSSIN THESE
WITH HOOKUP'S LIKE ASPOSTROPHES.
COM-SENSE U MY NI66A, THATS MY WORD
YOU ON LINE LIKE AMERICA WHEN IT'S COMP-U-SERVE WHAT!!!!!! |
|
Name: Jeron/Moody
From: "Doublon
E-Mail: jonieblaze
March 03, 1998 at 18:10:24 (EST)
|
Who be the one carrying weight on the brain ,cause thoughts be heavy
And takin all percentages cause your taxes could't levy
Fuck a chevy with no heartbeats, that pump faster than rabbits, my thoughts was conceiced before I was born riding in chariots
chillin on mariots at islands that aint registered on a map, had visions of rappin with stars and freestylin with Zodiac
Who wanna see me levetate mountains raising all hell
I'll cool the sun with my lyrics, dry rain and the clouds fell
One thumb up could start a war and one down could stop it
I could throw a missle at Russia and nobody could spot it
never announce how I attack I sneak up on mark's in stealth stealing all wealth and giving back heart attack's and bad health
It ain't all hell , differences to jail and a cell
is my mind state
you get no offers to even set bail
cause I devastate , the minds of young women and kids
massacre crowds and guess an officer to guess what I did
Lyrics will travel faster than cannonballs that was thrown at you
If you was velcro stickin to rap I'm guaranteed to detach you
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Name: Sarad Davenport
From: Charlottesville, Virginia
E-Mail: SDaven
March 02, 1998 at 19:47:20 (EST)
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Dear Common,
Jewels spray like tecs,
wearing mental vests,
hollow necks,
to interject and cause wreck.
Some have seen it,
Though they feen it,
Filthy gotta clean it,
Commercial interviene it,
Its real while others dream it.
Flashing words of Jealosy,
Stanzas of Tragedy,
with no salary,
Preaching blasphemy.
But Im a roll,
Cause the currency folds,
like a scroll,
The holy scriptures told,
And prophesies are sold.
Whatever price
any is like dice,
all a heist
to tell the stories of my life.
The biggest gangs ride with nines and billy clubs,
Makes me wonder if a true angel is a thug,
Extremely deep like meditation,
this mental wisdom station,
barrel that Im facing
Blast with exclamation
Found the link thats missing,
Formating new systems,
Product Crack to your ear,
so you can listen.
Lubricate like balm,
wild but calm,
mentalbites,
memorizing psalms,
and capturing pawns.
Keep going at the end of the road,
Mind explode,
In many modes,
Using lines while you pose.
( Peace be unto you Com) Im a leader of your music, you represent man. And yes yes Im hype because im unsigned. Its very frustrating sitting on rymes man. But my day will come in due time. Hope you liked it.
-Sarad SAYS Allahu Akbar to the C to the O double M O N.
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Name: the I.r.S. (ill rhymin style)
From: hip-hop rock 96792
E-Mail:
March 02, 1998 at 13:08:59 (EST)
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damb i didnt know they had emcees in germany black / in a matter of oppinion that bull shit was wack / please, before you spread like an eppidemic / WAc little bitch with out the accademic / stature, i capture, with lubricated rhymes / so smooth at times niggaz see it's hard to find / my mind sharp so its razor / slicen cracks split'n backs, ayo my damage major / i'll page ya, when the fbi finds your game / but for now wit out expierence your rap was lame / i tame, muthufuciz who would step to me / you probably have brass ballz to get rejected gee........... peace to teopad the missin lad, and the whole
y-n-i ballin crew......dis site is ill |
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