Chorus: When I rhyme just a little bit, Everybody’s feeling it/ Making sure the rhythm is hitting when I be killing it/ Really, I make a chicken wanna get with this/ Baby, say my name, “TONEDEFF”, that kid is ridiculous.
V1 It is un-fucking-believable, whenever I proceed to besiege beats/ With a mean streak, lacing tracks phatter than sneakers in Beat Street/ Seeing to it that each week I’ve agreed to defeat the weakest of MCs/ Including G’s with Keys, Cheese & Bentley’s/ Guaranteed to receive a high degree of status/ Due to my steeze using this aparatus, toss rappers like faggots do salads/ Staggered by the amount of malice that I’ve managed to average/ Any MC grabbing this mic after me is needing their hands bandaged/ Master mechanic, assembling verses/ I’ll be jerking your purse, return with a smirk and a proof of purchase/ Im verbally perfect, and I’m assertive when I serve who deserves it/ Y’all coming up short, you’ve got smurfs in the circus nervous/ I’ve been alerted you’ve heard this, pounding with crazy shit/ With a tendency to hurt kids… don’t allow me to babysit/ The compounding’s amazing it’s slated to change the face of this/ Restoring the fear of skills in you lyrical aetheists.
V2 I’m rearranging the game we play with a blazing array of ways/ To display dismay and decay on the faces of fakes that say/ They be claiming to turn the page, when they’re plainly afraid of change/ So, like God with a laptop… I’ll be saving the day/ Never the one to disgrace a blank stage or stay in the same place/ Aiming to lay waste to these snakes that ain’t vacating the 48 states/ And Locating them in the other 2. Making em pay/ Blatantly taking away their weight and then gaining a W/ And then I be coming through with a nastiness/ That ain’t been seen since your girl came clean, and really revealed just who the daddy is/ Happiness is rapping and splacking chicks/ I dominate tricks, and turn pimps into pacifist masochists/ The most tactical activist and Im letting the world know/ These cats is more half-ass than the award show that the source throw/ Feats are Herculean like Kevin Sorbo/ The lyrical Zorro, carving initials into your torso.
V3 Im a man on a mission/ Skills on the mic don’t equate to your paper chase or the hate you place in your ammunition/ It’s fact or fiction, I’m acting towards your abolition/ I’m cracking you ghost just to battle you’re fractured apparition/ Rhythms I map with hand crafted precision/ No longer will I tolerate these cats that’s fraudulent like Darva Conger/ To be famous for 2 minutes/ When their whole delivery comes off flatter that a 12-year-old female gymnist/ They have neither the capacity or the fitness… for instance/ These cats be thinking they’re ill just cause they’ve got syphilis/ I come prepared with a quickness/ Their boys could testify nude for them in a courtcase and wouldn’t bare witness/ Competition best to be scared shitless/ I’ll sever their legs and toss a ruler in front of em… see if they go the distance/ This is readily on my wishlist/ Like, sticking a chick that be sipping the tip of my dick until she’s lipless/ The gist is it only takes a second to diss ya/ Bitch, you couldn’t match wits if you cloned a twin of Alicia/ With lesser odds of winning with a militia/ Blackmailing your bitch, telling her that I’m gonna send you the picture/ Of me and her playing strip-twister/ These are the consequences you face when your only aim in the game is to get richer/ Making intelligence legitimate when I be spitting it/ You may be hard but you’re lyrically impotent/ And I’ve been ripping shit since square one/ Persistence in killing insolence like when women insist to get their hair done/ I tear the sun out the sky if it’s hogging my shine/ If a track is ill, then it’s probably mine.
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