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Thu May 28, 2020 21:59:50Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 12345[6]78910 ]


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Date Posted: 02:23:30 02/06/03 Thu
Author: Pat D.A.W.G
Author Host/IP: host-209-214-168-130.sdf.bellsouth.net / 209.214.168.130
Subject: All right yall, been kinda rusty a little bit bit. Keystyle I call "Mass of The Few" u betta know what side u on when the fake hip hop gets slayed PEACE

It's foreign times son so give ya ghost up/
cats act the fool just ta get they sales up.
okay yall lets rhyme about shoes ta make the top ten/
tis the season cats screaming throw mics like harpoons spit sin.
Lethal messenger wit a flow ta add names on the shit list/
get pissed flip scripts like arrows that don't miss.
Paragraph welder making skilless cats look for the shelter/
no protection get a witness to this ill knowledge like an elder.
Kickn out my stool ta watch me hang but I'am too tall/
5'10 I assend due to soul searching and a roll call.
I Fall in then out militant prophet study skill droughts/
many are thirsty for the art, I play a part wit out doubt.
I pull topics off the shelfs like books in local librarys/
my steez must vary when I pack verbal heat its a must that I carry.
From sun up ta sun down obsessive compulsive I cant put the pen down/
Fuck a zoloft I cool off when a wack emcee sucombs to my flow and puts a mic down.
1 more down, millions left for me ta seek and destroy/
rhyme schemes deploy my attcks ta scratch off decoys.
R.A.P. is Repettative arrogance projected i will test it/
hip hop is not hot glocks or crack rocks but gets neglected.
Misinterpreted by the selfish emcees and wack spittas/
transmittas will be taken over by a soilder fake hitter.
Pat D.A.W.G knock'em out wit a deathblow cus the games cold/
kittens bring they mittens cus i leave mics too hot ta hold.
Roll'em like a blunt pull stunts or like a pair of dice/
they choose the money over life come and get ya genes spliced.
Serve em up wit a slice of the goodness fresh out the oven/
practicing the craft for seven years but no one saw my plauge coming.
Hit the press room, smoke a dime new literature ta kick a head'z trash line/
to the curb, word is, my flow is similar ta close encounters of the PAT kind.
I pack landmines so I suggest ya take baby steps when approaching with caution/
Its now or never better make moves before the fakness sends hip hop to a coffin

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