Random 1 liners ITT

[Finnydot]

"will 7 digits push me? FUCKIN REAL" - B.I.G

"I circumnavigate the globe with a 1 liner like latitude" - rass kass

"Thug nigga till the end tell a friend bitch, won't change for no paper plus I been rich" - jigga (cheated 2 lines)

"Getting used to being crazy like a double jointed doctor bent over delivering her own baby" - Chino XL

"I refuse to do this for anybody but me like a blind Chick with a boob job" - Chino XL

"Only bitch you see inside of my eyes is your reflection." -chino xl

"I don't care if I love you I STILL want head in a drop" - Jada

Just shit I heard tonight while I was working. Maybe not all super punches and may be weak out if context but I thought these were all just dope. Thought this would at least be interesting and related to HIP HOP

[Allen Knight]

that reflection line by chino will always be one of the dopest of all time.

[PancakeBrah]

One of my favorite quips:

"And there was a booming above you,
that night black airplanes flew over the sea.
And they were lowing and shifting like
beached whales,
shelled snails,
as you strained and you squinted to see
the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry.

You froze in your sand shoal,
prayed for your poor soul;
sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl.

And when the bread broke —
fell in bricks of wet smoke —
my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke.

Then there was a silence you took to mean something:
Run, sing,
for alive you will evermore be.
And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking
has gone east,
while you’re left to explain them to me —
released
from their hairless and blind cavalry.

With your hands in your pockets,
stubbily running
to where I’m unfresh,
undressed and yawning —

Well, what is this craziness?
This crazy talking?
You caught some small death
when you were sleepwalking.

It was a dark dream, darlin;
it’s over.
The firebreather is beneath the clover.
Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever:
a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather.

But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever),
down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb
that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside —
I’d bring it here:

Apply it gently
to the love you’ve lent me.

While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
and the string sobbed,
as it cut through the hustling breeze.

And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly,
gone treacly,
nearly slowed to a stop in this heat;
in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath.

Press on me,
we are restless things.
Webs of seaweed are swaddling.
And you call upon the dusk of the
musk of a squid:
shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib.

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes,
I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened.
Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
Why would you say
I was the last one?

Scrape your knee: it is only skin.
Makes the sound of violins.

And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings,
I am the happiest woman among all women.

And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see.
Knee deep, trudging along —
the seagull weeps ‘so long’ —
humming a threshing song —

Until the night is over, hold on,
hold on;
hold your horses back from the fickle dawn.

I have got some business out at the edge of town,
candy weighing both of my pockets down
till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the commonfolk condemn
what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm:
Being a woman. Being a woman.)

But always up the mountainside you’re clambering,
groping blindly, hungry for anything;
picking through your pocket linings —
well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain.
Little sister, he will be back again.
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain.
Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and
dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees,
in tiny nooses, safe from everyone —
nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done —
Be a woman. Be a woman.

Though we felt the spray of the waves,
we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far.
We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are;
and you know that we know what you are.

Awful atoll —
O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow!
Bawl bellow:
Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow.
Toddle and roll;
teethe an impalpable bit of leather,
while yarrow, heather and hollyhock
awkwardly molt along the shore.

Are you mine?
My heart?
Mine anymore?

Stay with me for awhile.
That’s an awfully real gun.
I know life will lay you down,
as the lightning has lately done.

Failing this, failing this,
follow me, my sweetest friend,
to see what you anointed,
in pointing your gun there.
Lay it down! Nice and slow!
There is nowhere to go,

save up;
up where the light, undiluted, is
weaving, in a drunk dream,
at the sight of my baby, out back:

back on the patio,
watching the bats bring night in

— while, elsewhere,
estuaries of wax-white
wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped.

*

Last week, our picture window
produced a half-word,
heavy and hollow,
hit by a brown bird.

We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
and pant and labor over every intake.

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace,
then thought I ought to take her to a higher place.
Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you,
and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.”

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight.
We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate.
The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars
while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered!

Well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two;
then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew.
(While back in the world that moves, often, according to
the hoarding of these clues,
dogs still run roughly around
little tufts of finch-down.)

And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland,
but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless.

While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming;
we have everything.

Life is thundering blissful towards death

in a stampede
of his fumbling green gentleness.

You stopped by;
I was all alive.
In my doorway, we shucked and jived.
And when you wept, I was gone;
see, I got gone when I got wise.
But I can’t with certainty say we survived.

Then down and down
and down and down
and down and deeper,
stoke, without sound,
the blameless flames,
you endless sleeper.

Through fire below,
and fire above,
and fire within,

sleep through the things that couldn’t have been,
if you hadn’t have been.

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
And why would you say
I was the last one?

All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone.
Take my bones, I don’t need none.
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on!
Suck all day on a cherry stone.
Dig a little hole not three inches round —
Spit your pit in a hole in the ground.
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
Till up grows a fine young cherry tree.
When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.
Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west.
But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head.
Come across the desert with no shoes on!
I love you truly,
or I love no-one.

Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son.
Why would you say that I was the last one?
Last one?

Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire.
Get going,
and I’m going to be right behind you.

And if the love of a woman or two, dear,
could move you to such heights,
then all I can do
is do, my darling, right by you."

[Finnydot]

One of my favorite quips:

"And there was a booming above you,
that night black airplanes flew over the sea.
And they were lowing and shifting like
beached whales,
shelled snails,
as you strained and you squinted to see
the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry.

You froze in your sand shoal,
prayed for your poor soul;
sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl.

And when the bread broke —
fell in bricks of wet smoke —
my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke.

Then there was a silence you took to mean something:
Run, sing,
for alive you will evermore be.
And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking
has gone east,
while you’re left to explain them to me —
released
from their hairless and blind cavalry.

With your hands in your pockets,
stubbily running
to where I’m unfresh,
undressed and yawning —

Well, what is this craziness?
This crazy talking?
You caught some small death
when you were sleepwalking.

It was a dark dream, darlin;
it’s over.
The firebreather is beneath the clover.
Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever:
a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather.

But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever),
down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb
that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside —
I’d bring it here:

Apply it gently
to the love you’ve lent me.

While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
and the string sobbed,
as it cut through the hustling breeze.

And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly,
gone treacly,
nearly slowed to a stop in this heat;
in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath.

Press on me,
we are restless things.
Webs of seaweed are swaddling.
And you call upon the dusk of the
musk of a squid:
shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib.

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes,
I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened.
Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
Why would you say
I was the last one?

Scrape your knee: it is only skin.
Makes the sound of violins.

And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings,
I am the happiest woman among all women.

And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see.
Knee deep, trudging along —
the seagull weeps ‘so long’ —
humming a threshing song —

Until the night is over, hold on,
hold on;
hold your horses back from the fickle dawn.

I have got some business out at the edge of town,
candy weighing both of my pockets down
till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the commonfolk condemn
what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm:
Being a woman. Being a woman.)

But always up the mountainside you’re clambering,
groping blindly, hungry for anything;
picking through your pocket linings —
well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain.
Little sister, he will be back again.
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain.
Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and
dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees,
in tiny nooses, safe from everyone —
nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done —
Be a woman. Be a woman.

Though we felt the spray of the waves,
we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far.
We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are;
and you know that we know what you are.

Awful atoll —
O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow!
Bawl bellow:
Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow.
Toddle and roll;
teethe an impalpable bit of leather,
while yarrow, heather and hollyhock
awkwardly molt along the shore.

Are you mine?
My heart?
Mine anymore?

Stay with me for awhile.
That’s an awfully real gun.
I know life will lay you down,
as the lightning has lately done.

Failing this, failing this,
follow me, my sweetest friend,
to see what you anointed,
in pointing your gun there.
Lay it down! Nice and slow!
There is nowhere to go,

save up;
up where the light, undiluted, is
weaving, in a drunk dream,
at the sight of my baby, out back:

back on the patio,
watching the bats bring night in

— while, elsewhere,
estuaries of wax-white
wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped.

*

Last week, our picture window
produced a half-word,
heavy and hollow,
hit by a brown bird.

We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
and pant and labor over every intake.

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace,
then thought I ought to take her to a higher place.
Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you,
and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.”

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight.
We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate.
The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars
while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered!

Well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two;
then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew.
(While back in the world that moves, often, according to
the hoarding of these clues,
dogs still run roughly around
little tufts of finch-down.)

And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland,
but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless.

While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming;
we have everything.

Life is thundering blissful towards death

in a stampede
of his fumbling green gentleness.

You stopped by;
I was all alive.
In my doorway, we shucked and jived.
And when you wept, I was gone;
see, I got gone when I got wise.
But I can’t with certainty say we survived.

Then down and down
and down and down
and down and deeper,
stoke, without sound,
the blameless flames,
you endless sleeper.

Through fire below,
and fire above,
and fire within,

sleep through the things that couldn’t have been,
if you hadn’t have been.

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
And why would you say
I was the last one?

All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone.
Take my bones, I don’t need none.
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on!
Suck all day on a cherry stone.
Dig a little hole not three inches round —
Spit your pit in a hole in the ground.
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
Till up grows a fine young cherry tree.
When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.
Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west.
But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head.
Come across the desert with no shoes on!
I love you truly,
or I love no-one.

Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son.
Why would you say that I was the last one?
Last one?

Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire.
Get going,
and I’m going to be right behind you.

And if the love of a woman or two, dear,
could move you to such heights,
then all I can do
is do, my darling, right by you."

You take this whole hipster thing entirely too seriously. Go play some my chemical romance and slit your wrists.

[Finnydot]

"you based on us you fiction, your Ace don't bust you a constant contradiction" - jay

[Finnydot]

that reflection line by chino will always be one of the dopest of all time.

Fact.

[PancakeBrah]

You take this whole hipster thing entirely too seriously. Go play some my chemical romance and slit your wrists.

Lol

[uh-oh]

MOTHERFUCK COURT, TOOK ANOTHER SNORT, JUMPING OVER CANS AS I RUN THROUGH THE AIRPORT

- CUBE

[PancakeBrah]

Tbsrs

"(Forgot the rest) POLAR BEAR / (Forgot the rest) SOLAR FLARE"
-Uh oh before he was wack

[uh-oh]

classic uh-oh had bars

I GOT TWO LEFT FEET. AND TWO RIGHT SHOES
AIN'T NOBODY STEPPIN THROUGH LIKE DUDE

now everytime i try to go in its I EAT BLAH BLAH you eat BLAH BLAH

its run its course. i fell off.

[For Battling]

@aerro

[ill nik-A]

Fucking backpackers, I swear

[Geno]

I tried doing good
But goods not to good for me
Missunderstood..
Why you chose the hood for me?

[WRATH]

Why you are listening to chino xl in 2017 i'll never know

[WRATH]

The game is at an all time low... still gettin money tho
- Currensy

[Geno]

Ask beavis, i dont get nuthin butthead
-da god

[Do Not Reply]

gotta couple hittas out south
that'll pop up at a nigga crib that he already in
like they got a set a keys to your house

pappy

[Objective]

''I don't fucking love music, I just use it to escape'' - Eyedea

''I'm a master like Fard, I bombard and blast hard'' - Esoteric

''some honies is hard-headed like Mount Rushmore'' - Shad

''I'm two-faced kid, so call me the gruesome two-some'' - Chip Fu

''You can't make a hoe a housewife'' - unknown rapper

[Geno]

The bitch asked me for a ring, i put one around her whole eye

[Geno]

Pancake bars >

[Witty]

One of my favorite quips:

"And there was a booming above you,
that night black airplanes flew over the sea.
And they were lowing and shifting like
beached whales,
shelled snails,
as you strained and you squinted to see
the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry.

You froze in your sand shoal,
prayed for your poor soul;
sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl.

And when the bread broke —
fell in bricks of wet smoke —
my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke.

Then there was a silence you took to mean something:
Run, sing,
for alive you will evermore be.
And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking
has gone east,
while you’re left to explain them to me —
released
from their hairless and blind cavalry.

With your hands in your pockets,
stubbily running
to where I’m unfresh,
undressed and yawning —

Well, what is this craziness?
This crazy talking?
You caught some small death
when you were sleepwalking.

It was a dark dream, darlin;
it’s over.
The firebreather is beneath the clover.
Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever:
a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather.

But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever),
down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb
that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside —
I’d bring it here:

Apply it gently
to the love you’ve lent me.

While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
and the string sobbed,
as it cut through the hustling breeze.

And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly,
gone treacly,
nearly slowed to a stop in this heat;
in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath.

Press on me,
we are restless things.
Webs of seaweed are swaddling.
And you call upon the dusk of the
musk of a squid:
shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib.

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes,
I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened.
Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
Why would you say
I was the last one?

Scrape your knee: it is only skin.
Makes the sound of violins.

And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings,
I am the happiest woman among all women.

And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see.
Knee deep, trudging along —
the seagull weeps ‘so long’ —
humming a threshing song —

Until the night is over, hold on,
hold on;
hold your horses back from the fickle dawn.

I have got some business out at the edge of town,
candy weighing both of my pockets down
till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the commonfolk condemn
what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm:
Being a woman. Being a woman.)

But always up the mountainside you’re clambering,
groping blindly, hungry for anything;
picking through your pocket linings —
well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain.
Little sister, he will be back again.
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain.
Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and
dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees,
in tiny nooses, safe from everyone —
nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done —
Be a woman. Be a woman.

Though we felt the spray of the waves,
we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far.
We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are;
and you know that we know what you are.

Awful atoll —
O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow!
Bawl bellow:
Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow.
Toddle and roll;
teethe an impalpable bit of leather,
while yarrow, heather and hollyhock
awkwardly molt along the shore.

Are you mine?
My heart?
Mine anymore?

Stay with me for awhile.
That’s an awfully real gun.
I know life will lay you down,
as the lightning has lately done.

Failing this, failing this,
follow me, my sweetest friend,
to see what you anointed,
in pointing your gun there.
Lay it down! Nice and slow!
There is nowhere to go,

save up;
up where the light, undiluted, is
weaving, in a drunk dream,
at the sight of my baby, out back:

back on the patio,
watching the bats bring night in

— while, elsewhere,
estuaries of wax-white
wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped.

*

Last week, our picture window
produced a half-word,
heavy and hollow,
hit by a brown bird.

We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
and pant and labor over every intake.

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace,
then thought I ought to take her to a higher place.
Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you,
and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.”

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight.
We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate.
The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars
while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered!

Well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two;
then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew.
(While back in the world that moves, often, according to
the hoarding of these clues,
dogs still run roughly around
little tufts of finch-down.)

And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland,
but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless.

While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming;
we have everything.

Life is thundering blissful towards death

in a stampede
of his fumbling green gentleness.

You stopped by;
I was all alive.
In my doorway, we shucked and jived.
And when you wept, I was gone;
see, I got gone when I got wise.
But I can’t with certainty say we survived.

Then down and down
and down and down
and down and deeper,
stoke, without sound,
the blameless flames,
you endless sleeper.

Through fire below,
and fire above,
and fire within,

sleep through the things that couldn’t have been,
if you hadn’t have been.

And when the fire moves away,
fire moves away, son.
And why would you say
I was the last one?

All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone.
Take my bones, I don’t need none.
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on!
Suck all day on a cherry stone.
Dig a little hole not three inches round —
Spit your pit in a hole in the ground.
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
Till up grows a fine young cherry tree.
When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.
Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west.
But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head.
Come across the desert with no shoes on!
I love you truly,
or I love no-one.

Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son.
Why would you say that I was the last one?
Last one?

Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire.
Get going,
and I’m going to be right behind you.

And if the love of a woman or two, dear,
could move you to such heights,
then all I can do
is do, my darling, right by you."

Top quality.

[PancakeBrah]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UUe3Q54qFg

[Hottest Vixen]

HOTTEST VIXEN ARRIVE
Making doe to survive
THAT'S MY LINE

[kannon]

Shad's song Now A Daze has a bunch of dope one liners.
"You better know who the crew that you roll with is
cause your staff could turn to snakes like moses's"
and
"I call my car roc-a-fella, cause it's got a broke dash"

And while it's super simple, I've always loved the Phonte line
"Walked outta Heaven just for the Hell of it..."

[uh-oh]

staff to snakes is fire

[WRATH]

If i tell you a flea can pull a tree you get a string and tie his lil ass up
- Suga Free

[Finnydot]

"they gon say A, I, O, U (aye, I owe you) and all kinda vowels when you makin all kinda thou's" - big Sean

"You can tell I'm focused even in my baby pictures / not replying to text or even naked pictures" - big Sean

Same song too. That on the come up is fucking ridiculous.

[Fart]

feeling hard as vince carter's knee cartilage is