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Date Posted: 14:32:37 03/13/03 Thu
Author: Vision...Thrice Optics of Abzent Minded of O.M.N.I.
Author Host/IP: wylab171.uwp.edu / 131.210.16.171
Subject: BATTLE BATTLE...this one from another board, im trying to learn how to do this so peep, vote, and tell me what i can do to get better


BMM

I don’t drink so don’t let me catch my name in your bars
Putting scars in ya text only way you’ll be making ya mark
Our collab won’t be the only way I make you see through
Posting dark ass pics, how do you expect anyone to see you?
Remember when taking pictures to make sure the flash is on
Let me borrow your third eye, right now your talent is gone
Waukegan gangsta? Fuck that, I should be exposing this kid
Leaving him like Mizz in the Photo Journal, holding his bitch
She’ll run away; ya nothing but a gimmick THRICE; me a hater?
Why flex on ya when ya don’t have the muscles to fill ya A-shirt?
No need for long lines, I’ll hit with line-size of EB & CAPPO
With this “W” I get, there’ll be MISS-L crises without Castro
From collab to battle, from friends to foes, from PA to Illinois
Losses? 0 for ya, DEFCON no-showed; allow me to fill the void
Can’t turn your raps into a decent verse? Thrice, just have patience
My END TRANSMISSION catch phrase will help you to shape-shift


Vision...Thrice Optics

ayo this kid spittin Bowel Mouth Movements, i knock that shit outcha oral
what you thought that was a clever punchline? i wasnt being metaphorical
Battle More Merciless, you rap as tight as a torn turban gets
servin hits below the belt like midgets in boxing tournaments
i was born to win, as if i was prophecised by ancient fallacies
i need to coach you and show you my weaknesses for you to battle me
i hold the darkest soul i'll sprinkle salt in ya incisions while the scars corrode
i think you ARE too bold but i'll poke you in the chest and watch ya heart explode
im a sentinel, BMM is the prototype version, more like a stencil in flow
you keep playin like you hard and i'll smack ya skin from ya soul
im insane and brutal in battle when im spittin the prose
hit you in ya temple, you see my knuckles rip through ya peripheral
its only right that i slay men when i hit ya chest and let ya back cave in
leak ya spine fluid make ya limbs like the branches on the trees on ya fake timbs
dog, you only wastin ya breath and i havent even shit on ya tongue
trying to swell up ya chest and get hard but there's a rip in ya lung
ya body hunched over cant hit me when drunk but even worse when you punch sober
homie, you wreak like pussy as if you was a professional cunt holder


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