God Of War
01-28-2013, 07:59 PM
posted on 8/30/00
Murdarap
Who turn stunts with a queer by getting pumped in the rear?
Who's career couldn't get off gound if it jumped in the air?
Who's rhythmless, and couldn't feel bass if he was punched in the ear?
TIME'S UP!! Here's a hint, How many months in a year?
Twelve's a punk full of fear, that likes to chastice the wack guys
act wise, RUN, and i'll leave your backside holy like it was baptised
I'll shit on you so bad that you'll attract flies
wanna be urban, but like wearing black shirts, you have no black ties
i bet you pass time in a mirror doing a Flip Dogg immitation
you're not welcome (well cum) like Magic Johnson giving artificial insemenation
your limitation has surpassed the way you change verses and bitch-a-lot
run back like you sniffed-ya-snot, read my verse then switch-ya-plot
How many hits-ya-got?? if i burned your lips you couldn't spit-tha-hot
your styles pissy like the floor when i'm drunk and i missed-the-pot (uh huh)
tres times quatro, will eventually die slow
and i'll show you iller noise (Illinois) if we meet in Chicago......
Twelve
"T" the phantom manic champ'll panic chants,& banish scamps,
Monopoly cards in a wind-tunnel you'd never stand a chance,
Murdaraps frantic in stance,& my advice's you better dash,
Murda bought boxx'n gloves,but he still couldnt Everlast,
Your verse's severed in halves,expect Fist to Teeth Mergers,
Theres no-limit to "T"s violence,cause didnt you C-murder,
Retreat the Cursor, & im destruct'n trinkets w/guns or pinkslip,
I eat so many pussy's,so im quite the cunn'n linguist,
Punch'n thinkless,nilihists who sought death or brilliance,
Nitwits like Murdarap,"T"ll jist use his head for billiards,
I said your skill-less, & point blank,your verse's trash,
Jist by post'n wack verses,you thought you could murder rap?,
Frankly,your not hurt'n tracks, so why sensor facts,
You couldnt dial a hot-line,so just push M for wack,
"T"s pen'n tracks repent'n cats, my rhyme'll kill posse's,
I listened to your "record",& it sounds faker then ill poppy's,
Wtf is kill-walk-ee,I laugh then the centuar'll wage moshpits,
M's vote count is as high as replies to his center stage topics,
You cant phase hotness & your drought spitt'n w/"T",
Cause like vulcan greet'n signs,Im always gitt'n the "V",
b'ware
-The Twelve
Murdarap
Who turn stunts with a queer by getting pumped in the rear?
Who's career couldn't get off gound if it jumped in the air?
Who's rhythmless, and couldn't feel bass if he was punched in the ear?
TIME'S UP!! Here's a hint, How many months in a year?
Twelve's a punk full of fear, that likes to chastice the wack guys
act wise, RUN, and i'll leave your backside holy like it was baptised
I'll shit on you so bad that you'll attract flies
wanna be urban, but like wearing black shirts, you have no black ties
i bet you pass time in a mirror doing a Flip Dogg immitation
you're not welcome (well cum) like Magic Johnson giving artificial insemenation
your limitation has surpassed the way you change verses and bitch-a-lot
run back like you sniffed-ya-snot, read my verse then switch-ya-plot
How many hits-ya-got?? if i burned your lips you couldn't spit-tha-hot
your styles pissy like the floor when i'm drunk and i missed-the-pot (uh huh)
tres times quatro, will eventually die slow
and i'll show you iller noise (Illinois) if we meet in Chicago......
Twelve
"T" the phantom manic champ'll panic chants,& banish scamps,
Monopoly cards in a wind-tunnel you'd never stand a chance,
Murdaraps frantic in stance,& my advice's you better dash,
Murda bought boxx'n gloves,but he still couldnt Everlast,
Your verse's severed in halves,expect Fist to Teeth Mergers,
Theres no-limit to "T"s violence,cause didnt you C-murder,
Retreat the Cursor, & im destruct'n trinkets w/guns or pinkslip,
I eat so many pussy's,so im quite the cunn'n linguist,
Punch'n thinkless,nilihists who sought death or brilliance,
Nitwits like Murdarap,"T"ll jist use his head for billiards,
I said your skill-less, & point blank,your verse's trash,
Jist by post'n wack verses,you thought you could murder rap?,
Frankly,your not hurt'n tracks, so why sensor facts,
You couldnt dial a hot-line,so just push M for wack,
"T"s pen'n tracks repent'n cats, my rhyme'll kill posse's,
I listened to your "record",& it sounds faker then ill poppy's,
Wtf is kill-walk-ee,I laugh then the centuar'll wage moshpits,
M's vote count is as high as replies to his center stage topics,
You cant phase hotness & your drought spitt'n w/"T",
Cause like vulcan greet'n signs,Im always gitt'n the "V",
b'ware
-The Twelve