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Date Posted: 17:08:00 11/26/02 Tue
Author: bum-b
Subject: ...mwoowm...

the lyrical swords i shift are thicker than this cord i grip/ make ya heads flip, "can you believe what incredible spit is hittin my dull flick", watch the smooth flow of his lips/ stick to stickshift, your style barely floats, the hell its automatic/ i sink your "tight" boat, my insane war tactics/ slackin, i can see the sausage shit drippin from your tinactin/-ass feet, expect a sheet of wacky damn good gore/ your styles poor, spin the records till im scratchin the coare/ of the needle, hittin like the beetles/ the tears my daughter cry coming from her eyes, too many i's, i am the best rapper/thats the end of that chapter/ but whats left after i take my last breath/ nothing can flex its chest gasping for air, but he still shouts/ what hes allabout, rhymin at school, or on my couch flippin through the stations/ from 5 dimensions you can see all around im the new lyrical generation/ abra cadabra, pullin tricks and stunts that tickle little cunts and burn the souls/ of the ones who didnt believe it was original, my words arent old/ sharper than the teeth in the sharks mouths in the pools/ sharper than the hardest tools/ rough turbulance hearin my constant rhyme is no cruise with bruised skin suits/ mactruck bitch i have one thing left/...breath... pack your pistol, strap your vest, tie your booots and listen...its essential...im have more than potential...

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