David, I love how you seem to find the right pic to fit each topic brother.
March 4, 2012 at 9:08 am
Thanks brother, You know I gots the graphics skills. lol. Great write as usual. It got me motivated. Keep on bringing’em.
March 4, 2012 at 1:26 pm
I am a lyrical monster ripping mic cords
Emcee extraordinaire gripping your life force
Strangling microphones, something to fight for
Hip hop to the bone, pure bread, the right source
Follow the corpses, bodies bags laid on the pavement
Psychotic killer, post bail, skip the arraignment
Kidnap’em leave’em tide up in the basement
On that Biggie type flow, spitting that deranged shit
Line’em up, plug’em in and I’ll kick out the speakers
Flow goes deeper, lift’em out they sneakers
Lucky Lefty killing’em; the Grim Reapers sleeper
Saint Valentine massacre, jeepers creepers
Follow the leader, a mic fiend, call me the R
Slicing’em up, blood bath when I drop these bars
Wycleff on this joint, Ghetto Superstar
Leaving no traces, death faces, don’t give a fuck who you are
No mercy, the Lyrical Assassin decap’in; watch’em fall
See my tongue is a blade and I’m massacring’em all
Dislocated, discombobulated, got’em dropping they jaws
Because I’m the most fucked up shit that they ever saw
March 4, 2012 at 10:49 am
Tight to def!
March 4, 2012 at 1:56 pm
Damn! That’s hot!
March 5, 2012 at 9:42 pm
David you are on fire! I love your poetry always! This hit is Explosive as well as Motivating! Keep em coming!
March 4, 2012 at 1:34 pm
Thank you Belinda, I appreciate the support.
March 5, 2012 at 3:54 am
I rip off heads and stomp out guts
Big boy Swagg is mine and I rock a dope strut
Many angles to my floetry, yes by design
Not German engineered, but still refined
I’m a Maybach on the Mic, Extreme and first rate
Argumentative at times, we can debate
Primary specialist of the verbal type
A futuristic lyrical assassins prototype
A Terminator of sorts, yes that is I
Lyrical Grim Reaper, Lord, I’m so fly
Break glass, then please step back,
I’m gone in the zone, when I’m on the attack
Ain’t a miracle, I’m spiritual hyped and original
Upgraded to modern times from analog to digital
Herbs work my nerves, cause they can’t stand me
It’s your fault that yo shit is wack B
Cliqued up with the best, and we challenge our Skillz
We became crucial with it niggas, we didn’t fall off and chill
We damage Mics on a regular basis, Destroy varied opponents
Many unfamiliar faces, Enough about my resume, its speaks for itself
Grab one of the slain opponents, over there on the shelf!
March 4, 2012 at 2:10 pm
MURDER THE MICROPHONE LIKE A MC BANDIT, WHEN EVER I UNLEASH SOME JUST CANT STAND IT… SO i DIP BACK INTO THIS VERBAL ASSINATION, SPIT ON THE MIC LIKE I”M FUCKIN LACTATING.. RELEASE THE ENERGY OF 1000 MISSLES, MY LYRICS ARE BLASTING LIKE A DOUBLE BARRELL PISTOL… MAYDAY MAYDAY I SENT UP A TRANSMITTER, Some One Call Oswald And Tell them It’s Mayhem In the Perimeter…. MY Left Hand Left Holding All the Clues, This CLIQUE Here is Known for Breakin All Rules…. Bottoms UP when I be On that SPIT SHYT, Thoughts Come To My Head Like A GIFTS and SHYT, SMOKING Verbs Like SPIFFS and SHYT….Mighty Tongue with a Penchant for Timing, I Got More Verses Than A Riddler Rhyming… True To My Causes True To My Name, My Credentials Are Encased In Da Hall Of Fame… I Even Spar My Own fukin Ego->She wanna Be Equal-> My Dialect is Illegal, Unless I can Prove Me Other Wise It’s Bye Bye Amigo.. SO Cheers To Her Plus You And Me, This Here Is The Click And We THROWIN UP Deeze….. (DUCES)
March 5, 2012 at 4:23 am
Wheew, I just bought a new fire extinguisher and now I got ta use it all up on this flow. Hot Hot Hot.
March 5, 2012 at 4:50 am
I REALY AM FEELING THIS ALLEN , YOU ALWAYS HAVE A WAY WITH WORDS AND VERSES….
March 5, 2012 at 4:25 am
its been a minute but im still in it killin wit lyrics how i do
16 bars of sadistic mayhem Candi’s Cane is comin thru
i crush u with the bottom of my timb leave a tree stamped on ur forehead
and im rollin wit the LAB fuck wit us there’ll be mo dead
but back to why im here i came to bring tha pain
i may sound sweet but dont be fooled by the softness of my name
i am lyrically deranged and a gemini to boot
i R.I.P niggaz so wear ya funeral suit
i let loose like bowels nigga throw in tha towel
lead the lyrical army mo efficient than colin powell
yeah i look nice but my tongue cut sharp like a samuri sword
ride beats like mass transit u gotta pay to board
and i dont take tokens im str8 chokin them wack lyrics u spit
yeah my bars are funky but you tha one spittin wack shit
dats it….im off this…..headed back to tha lab
ask usher to remind u that u cant fuck wit me nigga u got it bad………….
lmfaoooooooooooo……here u go D…..im off to bed…love ya
You got it, you got it, you got it BAAAAD.
That was hot Candie
March 5, 2012 at 4:52 am
I gots it bad, burning’em up and pulling off the scabs
Spit flows like alcohol on’em, sit back and laugh
Talking trash, abuse the mic, spit on it and dash
Lucky Lefty, Dirty Cash, busting shots in they ass
Chest strapped with C4, when I came through the door
They came in together, but left in pieces when I pulled the cord
Hands up, bodies and money stacked high on the floor
Lyrical Assassins clique pulling gatts, high to the core
Kush, Kush, puff puff, inhale make it last, hold it in
So I massacre the mic every time I toke it in
Opposition on lock, hold up, I’m closing it
The mirror keeps screaming at me, “YOUR SUPPOSE TO WIN”
I’m dissecting it, me and Candi Cane spit this shit live
“Who da fuck is you”, we the new Bonnie and Clyde
Gatt in my left hand and Bonnie on my right side
When I spit it, the mic gets turned on, open wide
Then I drill it, massacre it and left it broken to die
March 5, 2012 at 5:18 am
Death by Microphone
SHOTS RING OUT FROM THE CONCERT MONITORS,
A MASSACRE BY THE G WITH THE FEAR INDUCING MONIKER
OF “CHARACTER ASSASSIN”,
AS HE LEAVES’EM GRASPIN’
FOR RHYMES TO A PRAYER
AS THEIR LIVES START TO FLASHIN’!
SALIVATIN’ AS THE SNUB NOSE SPITZ,
DIALECTS OF DEATH IN A ALL OUT BLITZ…..
MAKIN’ UR RHYMES POST
MORTEM, POSTOPERATIVE, WITH BRASS KNUCKLE IMPRINTS AND LAST RITE SUPERLATIVES!
BENEVOLENT RULER OF THA HIP-HOP WORLD, A CHORTLE OF TRIUMPH AS LINGUAL BULLETS SWIRL,
LEAVING CARCASSES STREWN ‘CROSS THE LANDSCAPE OF RAP,
HEADS DECAPITATED, AND RAPS’ BACKBONE SNAPPED!
SKINNY BRIM TILTED, BLOODLUST SATED,
SOULS IN PURGATORY, VERBS UNWASTED,
G’THANG GROOVE, THA HOOD KING BRACES
FOR THE RIGHT TO LAY CLAIM TO THA LIFE HE HAS TASTED!
THA NEXT WANNABE, THA NEXT WANNASEE, THA NEXT DOOMED TO THA WASTELANDS TRYNA BE LIKE ME
YA MAKES THE ASSUMPTION
THAT THIS DISCUSSION’S
A “PASSING THA TORCH” DECISION
YA GOTS THA GUMPTION TO CAUSE DISRUPTION
IN MY “ART OF WAR” INFLICTION?
FOOL, YOUR INTERRUPTION
GIVES PAUSE FOR THE UNCTION
OF YOUR BLOOD FOR THA RITUAL SACRIFICE!
FUCK WIT ME, I’LL MAKE YA SEE,
UR ANTICS HAVE A PRICE!
LET ME GIVE U SUMP’IN FOR UR CONSUMPTION,
I AIN’TS TO BE DEFEATED!
CONJUNCTION JUNCTION, WHAT’S MY FUNCTION?
NO IFS, ANDS OR BUTS, UR AZZ IS DELETED!
SKOOLHOUSE ROCK YA!
HOLLOW POINTS DROP YA!
DESERT EAGLE PILL!
STRETCH YA OUT LIKE A DEFEATED BILL
ON THA STEPS OF CAPITOL HILL!
DIRT NAP BYTCH,
DONE FINISHED WIT UR FRICTION!
MY SERMON’S FRESH ABOUT AN INTERVENTION.
“HAIL FULL OF GRACE, FORGIVE MY HASTE!” I TELLS THA CONGREGATION.
“UR SIN’S ATONED, UR SOUL’S GONE HOME ,
CHURCH’S OUT! RISE FOR THA BENEDICTION!”
FLOWZ BY ManGOD
March 5, 2012 at 3:59 pm
Father forgive me for abusing the microphone
For leaving it dead and laid out, another life atoned
I’m a venomous snake, spitting poisonous acid
Enter the system, overload so massive
Flow hit and crash this, I blast shit
Sitting on top of the world – Lenny Kravitz
I’m a bad kid, I’m a basket
Case, crazed, leaving’em dead in plastic
While the flow plays, call me the Matchstick
Man, taking they shit, like a hunnid grand
Speakers, woofers, tweeters, amplifiers
Sitting in the pew, singing to the choir
Momma, I never been a liar
I’ve been killing mics and sending thy souls higher
Kerosene flow, always spitting fire
3rd degree burns left too long in the fryer
Left’em cooked up, shook up
Why the fuck did it even get hooked up
Broken as fuck trying to look up
It’s over, put the prayer books up
Too much yellow tape and chalk lines
Identified as another off crime
Overloaded and left off line
Left massacred, sorry officer, the finger prints are not mine
March 5, 2012 at 4:59 pm
Smoking newports, sipping OE, feeling tipsy
I came from the gutta until the flow done lift me
An underground emcee, don’t give a fuck if you don’t get me
Off the fukkin charts, ain’t no way you can test me
Still I’m the mic stalker, 666 printed on my forehead
When I grab it, I kill it, leaving’em on the floor dead
I’m radioactive, my flows are nuclear warheads
Fuck a pen or pencil, my mouth is spitting more lead
I’m left hype every time I see dead mics
Rockaby baby, tuck’em in the bed tight
From out my soul, I spit it from my chest right
Blowing’em out brains, until they bled light
Welcome to the afterlife; left’em in mic heaven
Coroner placed the time of death, 5 after eleven
It’s alright, I’m almighty like my name was Evan
With more burn notices then Mike Westen
Somebody said, keep’em coming so I emcee’d
And I move the crowd, every time a mic tempts me
Keep on spitting’em until every flow is empty
And the bodies are piled up to the ceiling
March 5, 2012 at 7:38 pm
Shantell Cooper I LIKE The Sound of that Fam To Fam Greeting, Let’s Have a Don Sit Down You Know That Mob Type Meeting… We’ll Pick Ya’ll Up In a all Black Limo, Scratch off the Rest in Peace Sign No Subliminal… Hand ova Hand We Do Firm Finger Clinching, I SEE you Be that King Purple they Be Mentioning.. I Be that Chick They Call The Predator Enforcer, Always giving everybody a Run down you Know The Once Over.. We Gotta Find Another place of Meeting cause the Chruch I Anit Going, I got that Demon Spirit On Me You Know Like The Omen.. Well gotta go So I can get out and Enjoy the Sun, AND I’m I’m Sure the Family Get together Will be Nothing but Good Fun….
March 5, 2012 at 7:51 pm
AFTERMATH is the skin decaying on your bones
because you keep touchin my microphones
didn’t you see the police tape and the orange street cones
that was your warning to go the fuck home
leave my stage alone
that chalk outline is where the last punk mc lay prone
you think I give a fuck if I inked yo sorry ass dead
with the flows of those prose that I bled
you just became a statistic
bitch please get realistic
my shit is damn near mystic
you spitter-spatter your chitter-chatter like to me it’s really gonna matter
like an egg hittin the ground, on the stage yo dreams I splatter
please don’t ask me to give a fuck
because yo stupid pen just ran outta luck
it was your ego that got yo rappin ass stuck
I drop flows on ho’s and joes like I’m a fucking dump truck
I’m the ring around yo bathtub
after you do your scrub a dub dub
from playin wit yo Mr. Bubble
there’s no warning label on me muthafucka, but I’m definitely trouble
I can bleed this ink one time and make you see double
I’m from the state they call Jerzy
I came west to show the east coast some mercy
but the time you spent
…and the rhymes you sent
ain’t gonna help yo ass pay the rent
because your dome I bent
when I refused to relent
it’s to late for your to admit you grabbin the mic was an accident
my ink bleeds like a laser
to sting yo ass like a tazer
ask Capt. Kirk to lend you a phaser
because my bleeding slices thru yo bullshit like a barber’s straight razor
March 5, 2012 at 9:05 pm
So sorry to interrupt, this massacre stuff is not my steelo
I just came to spit a couple verbs, ain’t here to play a hero
WHAT! You called me a zero? What kcuf you talk’n about
I’ll leave you bodied, laying in the streets mark’d up wit da chalk n yo mouth
No nigga I ain’t crazy, it’s just my form of human relation
Strip’n bones dry like I was damn locust infestation
Focus on my manifestation, Pokemon, I choose you
When I get up in ya face I’ma poke you mon, n watch yo guts bleed through
Yeah I’m a psycho too, lyrically talented and don’t forget it
I wager everything on yo life, so play with me if you really wanna bet it
Do you really wanna sweat, fine, I’ll lay the line dare you to cross it
And after I rip through flesh, I’ll need barb wire for my teeth, I got to floss it
You about to get massacre, hey give me your wallet, toss it
You ain’t gonna need it where you going, you thought you were the ish, but you just dog shit
March 5, 2012 at 10:08 pm
Poetic devastation is yo first and last clue
of what the lyrical Clique will do to you
I am the AFTERMATH when they get thru
brought on by inked oration
this taint no fuckin hobby, it’s my vocation
shuda stayed yo punk ass on vacation
now you’ve become the main character in the illustration
of me inking yo ass into obliteration
before you can even muster a feeble retaliation
I bled you dead and left yo still body for observation
in case another wannabee mc got the inclination
to do anything more than a respectful salutation
from yo rightful place at the club’s waitress station
because you too can become a victim of this murderous inking Clique nation
act stupid and think this is an invitation
it’ll be like you swallowed broken glass
when I hit you phonetically poetically and make you piss blood out your ass..
March 5, 2012 at 10:50 pm
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