Spit Anything Cypha, Do You

Discussion in 'Cypher' started by *Iceman*, Jul 20, 2006.

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  1. M-theory

    M-theory Saint Esprit

    Jan 4, 2001
    Glock loaded, skin corroded from a slow bullet
    No pulling strings, poppin' souls with my eyes jolted
    Defecation on anyone with hesitation, tears of hatred
    Fears of the matrix, belated wake for the mere patients in this facility
    Horizons of the 6 feet beneath the blankets
    Ability to seek out the rising of the bigots and the patrons
    Syringes in the veins of millions, the mortal civilian embracin illnesses
    Pillaging billions which were concealed within the villages
    The pavillion structure, nevermind the juncture-- flows will puncture
    Stuck inside a feeling of suction to correlate with the willing to adjustments
    The dripping soldiers of bloodspills in the infinite wars the sun kills
    Day by day, it's just reality... live with it or die for the cause
    Plenty survive it, defying the odds that are planted in your brains
    Even the gain, change the blame on the games you play
    A mainstay in the way, touch the stains, sway the grain
    You never knew shit, you're just a pain in the painstaking stake
    So give it a break.
  2. Verbiage.

    Verbiage. New Member

    Aug 30, 2006
    Give it a break...

    Dawg I'm movin with unlimited weight
    Killin N*ggas efficiently, just for the witnesses sake
    Splittin' ya cake with lyrics hot enough ta sizzle & bake
    You impotent fakes got more subdued kids than rittalin makes
    Cats ain't fuckin with the V, kid's enough of an MC
    Ta make cats make escape tracks, n*ggas duckin just ta be
    Outta the line of fire when my rhyme's inspired, then ya time's expired
    Can't think of a rhyme for Weisenheimer
    But that's how it goes, keystylin' the raps & the flows
    But my skill, guarentee y'all cats ain't matchin it, yo
  3. *Iceman*

    *Iceman* New Member

    Jun 19, 2000
    ...ain't matchin it, yo

    Money get low, he package the soap
    Pimp game so enchantin', he like magic, he float
    Killa trees, fill it in your knees after three tokes
    Feel the speed, tires kickin' shit up like a speed boat
    Hatin me nigga please his feelin's is filled with sodium(feel salty)
    Diarehea(sp) of the mouth and he all out of imodium(shit talker)
    U pretend, think you the shit, you brain filled with protroleum(gased up)
    Ima pump it out, high test gray matter on linoleum
    You's a bitch plain and simple, you should stop it
    Been bitch since your first pimple popped kid
    Since the first time niggaz ran up in your socks quick
    You been hatin' black folks, they ways, and they logic
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