Substantial Your majesty, makes casualties of wack emcees/ Catch you off guard like niggas speaking japanese/ Mics I have to seize, I’m Duracell, You’re dollar-store batteries/ With that wackness, please, send your weak records back to the factories/ I shop in Delaware, ain’t nobody taxing me/ Not unlikely, well actually/ We come hotter than big pun, you still don;t sound fat to me.
PackFM We’re bananas like a daiquiri, haven’t you heard?/ They say 3 is the magic number, Dominion’s the magic word/ I’m stabbing your nerves with the pens that’s in your pocket protectors/ Blocking you set, knock your head right off the top of you neck/ I’m blocking your tech. Mad malicious, crazy vicious/ Your rhyme was weak as fuck, I thought that you were blowing kisses/ Whole crew got issues. I ain’t got time to diss you/ I’m the shit, Only foes are diapers and Scott tissue/ Competition I rip through. You can’t tear shit/ And the only projects you’ve ever been through…is Blair Witch.
Rise I can’t hold a job, because I’m so sick I always call out/ Make rappers shit enough bricks to build a small house/ My records, if they’re all out, buy the mixtape/ I ripped it, unless the DJ screamed over my lyrics/ Nasty, I’ve been called the MAN lately/ Locked up, a ladies man, will turn to a man’s lady/ I heard your freestyles, and all the songs you come with/ You’re not developed, you should climb back in your mom’s stomach.
Wordsworth Wordworth’s about to make your whole style plummet/ I got a hundred of different styles/ Matter of fact, I got a hundred of women, that means I got about a hundred of different childs/ Or children, I’ve been building/ Raps are just, be fulfilling my obligations, this is my job and my occupation/ And I’m sorry if I’m rhyming at your own show, then I got you waiting.
Wiseguy Hired MCs occupation is to rock the nation/ I’m happy rocking the basement/ Word Up, Cause I don’t need to rock a whole population of small nations/ Three people is enough, cause my rhymes that rough and tough/ I’ll call your bluff, call you up and hang up/ Click! Leave you alone with the phone and the dialtone/ AL Show em.
A.L. Skills Now, you couldn’t take me out if you had a chaperone/ What! I kill MCs over the phone/ So, call the fire guards, and red alert/ Cause I kill MCs through your MHz, my baretta jerks/ Kills MCs off the top of the brain/ Your girls giving me brain, cause AL is insane/ You know the name, el nombre/ I do it in Spanish, MCs stepping to me, of course they vanish/ Spenglish or Spanglish, whatever, que loco tu qiuera/ AL, fuera fuego.
Tonedeff Given any instance in time, I split the rhythm in a million pieces/ Pull tubes on scuba gear to disable the breathing features/ I’m fabled in regions, that I’ve hardly seen or dreamed of even/ Elvis believes I’m the king because I stole the crown from Stephen/ I’m overachieving. Y’all niggas snoring or sleeping/ Need to WAKE THE FUCK UP, game point for PLAYAS scoring a beating/ The Foreman of freedom, when you let me on/ Cause after you hear us…you’ll never wanna go back like Elian.
Wordsworth – B Yo, what the hell he on?/ He be buggin out, when it’s a hot track now you can tell we on/ You prolly got some radiation inside of your brain and a tumor from hearing this because your celly’s on/ But wordsworth’ll come across any station/ You prolly jotting this down for your documentation/ This is something off the top of the dome, I didn’t write it/ But I know I’ll be killing all you rappers sooner or later, cause I’m a psychic. You gotta like it.
PackFM – B He’s a psychic, and I got my sidekicks, PackFM/ You can’t rush it, going biking, while you’re pedaling/ Yo, I fucking roll, pumping like adrenaline/ My shit is ill, I’m under your skin just like the melanin/ PackFM, last name is an acronym, I’m smackin men/ Um, fucking getting your shit pumped just like an abdomen/ A Six Pack, Yo, you get your shit back/ Call the dispatch, because your shit’s wack/ Yo, Get off the dick black.
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