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trap.
02-02-2013, 05:06 PM
Battle: Deacon vs Vitamin E
Round: 1
Winner: Deacon
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Deacon

VitaminE, Why don't you go ahead now and call truce/
Because facing Deacon is like Gary Coleman batteling Zues/
My mind is capable of controlling the laws of nature/
I carve out canyons and valleys through ya mental like my words are glaciers/
Leaving you unable to, recuperate from the state I leave you in/
Investigators will find no traces of my presence among your camp's ruins/
Just burnt corpses, victims of my verbal flames/
Connect with 12 hit combinations, then morph to dragon like Lui Kang/
Swoop over you, wings spread, nostril's smokin', eyes gleamin'/
I'll get in ya ass so deep, for the next 52 weeks you'll be shittin semen/
Verbally sinister, I'll so easily diminish ya/
I got olympic medals in grappelin', in ten seconds I'm pinnin ya/
I was trained by Royce Gracie, Deacon the Ultimate Fighter/
Getting rid of wack MCs like you that irritate me like child proof lighters/
I overload central nervous systems with electrical volts/
Fear'll have you deadboltin' your doors, and surrounding your house with a moat/
Because you're aware of other mothafuckaz that considered temptin/
They got their asshole split open like Ving Rhames in Pulp Fiction/
Or better yet, like Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption/
I deal with Mid-Evil type punishment due to my violence addictions/
So VitaminE, please refrain from steppin to me, just stay calm/
Or get beheaded like your John Liguizamo batteling Spawn/

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Vitamin E

Deacon can't comprehend/
the way that I bend/
rules of dialect and diction/
Pull feats that only been told about in Science Fiction/
Verses well groomed/
Wack Mc's like Deacon get consumed/
have you stutter / before you ever utter / one single word like Max Headroom/
I throw raps that'll make your hairline receed/
Yo Deacon, you best to take heed/
your crawl at a dwindling pace, but I move in BreakNeck Speed/
Whenever you attempt to bust/
I'll blow that waste of breath you call a flow like a speck of dust/
My rhymes defy/
I ran for Lead Chemist in Shanghai / fry/
ya ass up in my wok / then serve you chilled in the city of Bangkok/
I write rhymes the length of novels, while you still play with building blocks/
a nanosecond goes by on my Biological Clock/
yo, its TIME for you to get ripped, like a Cotton Polyester Blend/
All those / B.S. Flows / you write, time for me to end/
The Chemist will rule the EAST COAST with a IRON FIST / of the NORTH STAR/
Im nasty like Nas, before he was Escobar/
Ya rhymes simply aint up to par/
Overload you with thoughts Johnny 5 couldnt compute/
Ask, "Who's gonna win this tournament ish?" VitaMin E, with no dispute/
rhyme still potent even if you were to dilute/
first round clashing / equates to a first round bashing/
What the Bloodcot? / Yo, youll get touched like Rock em Sock em Robots/
Tongues explosive when I blow spots/
Ya shit is Bizzaro / Minimize ya like a Compaq Presario/
Comin across me first time is a jinx / Remeber "WHEN WE WERE KINGS",
I was touchin you like Leon Spinx?/
you CANNOT FLOW / I thought I let you know/
you got a better chance of passin Boot Camp with Riddick Bowe/
You fell off on Skid Row / I stay on point like a GOLDEN ARROW/
piercin alloy / when i post/
I know Im nice, but I prefer not to boast/
Classic like Sandy Koufax / when I throw raps/
Geometry plays a role, you gettin hit from every angle conceived/
Death of a Deacon, they attend your funeral, but not one soul ever greived...........

trap.
02-02-2013, 05:07 PM
Battle: Deacon vs MC Frânçhíze
Round: 2
Winner: Deacon
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Deacon

Hit the deck, my canon balls cause mass destruction/
As you've seen, testing me could have severe repercussions/
My flows render you useless like a blind seeing eye dog/
My rhymes are complex constructions while yours are simpler than Lincoln logs/
When I'm aim at you, throw in the towel/
My flows move you to losers brackets, they only thing your flows move are my bowels/
So take me serious, I drive mothafuckaz delirious, just try and check me/
I'll permanently stop ya flows like a hysterectomy/
Leave ya beheaded like the legend of sleepy hollow/
Physically disproportioned like paintings by Picasso/
Midget minded MCs like you can't hang with Deacon the Colossal/
Because yall still got yalls lips wrapped around baby bottles/
I ought to, stay out the game due to unfairness/
Easily making' it appear that your skull has nothing but air in it/
Tracking you down quicker than Budget when you don't return their rentals/
Leave ya with an "out of order" sign hanging on ya mental/
Do you remember, the mythologies about Hercules?/
He was based upon one of my past lives; the writer was just observing me/
Deacon comes off hotter than mercury, Franchise, you're irking me/
So I'll make like Kull and conquer ya shit, most certainly/
As soon as I'm inserting the, mic cord, even God's like "oh lord"/
King author was possessed with my spirit when he pulled out that sword/
Ignore me? Shiiiiit... you'll find ya self on a rotisserie/
Years from now kids'll learn about your defeat in world history/
Mothafucka, be actin like defeating me's ya life mission/
I could easily take you out, even while holding my dick and pissin'/
Cause if victories were equivalent to pussy, I'd have more than Wilt Chamberlain/
The Ku Klux tried to recruit me because of my marvelous record of hanging men/
Franchise, I thought you knew that I easily shatter grills/
And that challenging me's worse than facing off with Michael Myers in Haddenfield/
While downing sleeping pills on your way to Elm Street drunk/
Cause Deacon the Lumberjack's ax swings leave ya stumped/
So don't get you hopes up on receiving any votes this week/
Only an email from "SIMPLESIME" announcing defeat/

Peace
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MC Frânçhíze

Virtually no flaws, they microscopically implanted on me/
Flow runs deep, strength constantly grows rampant on me//
I'm the one liable for your death/
So strap on that oxygen mask and take your valuable last breath//
I'll fly down to your churches home coming just to torture you/
Let you try out this tux and casket that I brought for you//
In 21 flavors is how Frânçhíze is assorted/
While you possess one method you just nearly afforded//
Meagerish rhymes remain warped and contorted/
You hold less weight than fat cats running traks by Nortik//
I'm growing sick of your spiritual attaches/
You wouldn't blow up if you stood on a combustible tank filt with lit matches//
Spike your holy water, leave you feeling inebriated/
Capsize your rhymes left everyword abbreviated//
V. (Verbal) App. (Application) Ins. (Inscribed) Ind. (Indefinitely)/
On different levels, you'll need more then 30 vertical yard sticks to measure thee//
Visualize me in my godly position at the horizon/
If you the top cat I'll be sure to see that all of your 9 live end//
There's a reason behind Deacon's appearance as frightened/
Scared to face me because Frânçhíze is enlightened//
He trembles at the fact that I easily over power his writings//
Doesn't have any audio's, my presence makes him afraid to plug his mic in//
Drain his muscles of energy, results in lost control of his bowels and bladder/
Vaporize your eyes so you can't see me motioning thru matter//
Swiftly to decapitate your ego filt head/
A new definition to losing your mind, mentally dead, from verbal pencil lead//
Ending this congregation, closing passage will be your final/
Deacon X'ed out himself cause that above Sermon was Suicidal//

(Watches Deacon fall to his eternal resting place.....spits on his victom....fades into the darkness)

MÇ Frânçhíze "That Conceited Bastard"

trap.
02-02-2013, 05:07 PM
Battle: Deacon vs DStraught Thoughts
Round: 3
Winner: Deacon
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Deacon

Do you understand you've jumped in a cage with a bear/
If given an hour I'd defeat you and have more than 59 minutes to spare/
Pull out your koran or bible and cry to whatever God you pray to/
And I guarentee the response'll be, "…sorry, I'm not able"/
Because I have devine abilities that the Gods refuse to bother/
So it don't matter if you're in the middle of Mecca, bathing in holy water/
I'll come through, snatch your ass up like jax/
I should be called "thong' cause of the way I get in ass cracks/
My flow's a catalyst, sparkin the fear in ya/
Look in your mirror and you'll see the epitome of inferior/
Turn your 'dstrought thoughts" to "neglected ideas"/
Send you to "Wack Rappers Anonomous so you can discuss this loss amongst peers/
Even if you practiced for years/
You'd have a chance about as great as a black man starring on Cheers
Deacon's hazardous to ya health/
you need a muzzle to stop ya from embarrasing yourself/
you talk about rocking mics and can't even rock cradles/
my style to yours is like comparing DSS to not even having cable/
Or Harvard and Yale, to a local community college/
I'm like Frederick Douglas and you're slavery because you'll get abolished/
If you're a goldfish, then i'm a blue whale/
my flow stays fresh for years, yours come stale/
you couldn't feel me if i was braille/
you represent wackness like demons represent hell/
so please accept this L/
or get ya asshole split like you're in a San Francisco Jail/
Dstrought Thoughts, you simply don't flow well/
I should call Steve Case and complain about you polluting AOL/
bitch ass, you simply don't have a chance/
so don't expect to check the brackets next week to say you've advanced/

peace

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DStraught Thoughts

DEFAULT!!!!

trap.
02-02-2013, 05:08 PM
Battle: Deacon vs Psychlone
Round: 4
Winner: Deacon
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Deacon

You'll "die hard"er than John McClain when my words hit ya/
Your next career will involve posing for "before" pictures/
My shit's NC-17, you're not even P.G. one three/
You're str8 P, for pussy, better yet made for T.V/
You couldn't even see me with Hubble/
Bring that water style it'll get splashed like puddles/
Leave ya head "crooked" like "eye"/
I'm excelling like Hyundai while you still doing Book-It for pizza pie/
You'd be better off breathing toxic air/
Cause I send ya home with ya brain stained like shitty underwear/
Without Robin I'll make ya quiver/
200 proof lyrics rock livers, leave ya shit all damned up like the Hudson river/
The scuds I deliver, sink ya submarines/
Pop in a magazine, gun on ya click like the A-team/
You oughta call me Trapper Keeper cause I'll leave ya binded/
With shit that'll leave ya assed out like sittin on land mines/
You can't handle mine, avoid drama/
Suffocate ya style like bear hugs from anacondas/
Just because you was a boyscout with honor/
Doesn't' mean you can survive the mental wilderness of deacon, quick to harm ya/
Burning ya eyes like looking directly into nuclear detonations/
Deacon, the Black Encyclopedia Brown heading the investigation/
Wondering how ya made it this far with such ease/
To face Deacon who'll turn ya psychlone to a Bacardi Breeze/
If ya put ya illest complexities up next to me/
I'll reduce em to mere wreckage and scattered debris/
You'll get bricked like Reginald Denny/
If ya tempt me, you better be able to Sprint like lil' Penny/
This is your end/
Click on "yes" when asked, are you sure you want to send "psychlone" to the recycle bin?/
You couldn't RAP if ya name was REYNOLD'S/
Killer Priest applauding the way I drop this "Heavy" load on ya "Mental"/
Have you seeking Refuge, running for ya life like Richard Kimble/
because without SIME, I make defeating you look so SIMPLE/
Psychlone, you might as well go ahead and hit the exit/
Because your chances of beating me are slimmer than anorexics/


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Psychlone

Headline of local Kentucky newspaper reads:
"Psychlone Destroys Local Church. Deacon Discovered Dead"
Tuesday, April 28 was a sad day for the residents of a small Kentucky town. A well-respected DEACON was killed suddenly when a vicious Psychlone reduced an ancient church to rubble. Luckily, DEACON was the only fatality. Local authorities are puzzled over a strange document that was pried from the DEACON's cold dead fingers. The mysterious document read:

DEACON listen up cause I'm about to spit a sermon
Violatin you like Rohypnol (Roof-A-Nol) my wins were no fluke at all I'm certain
That ya style smells fishy like when heatin a trout
Yes I reckon ya reekin like the unwashed DEAC-in ya mouth
It's official when I dis you I Excel cause ya Write-so-soft
With 95 Windows ya couldn't see me like a night scope off
Ya lost like the Ark I'm like a spark when I set it
Ya spent Seven Years in Tibet but still there's marks on ya credit
Since ya like Frisco jails get impaled until ya torn bro
Cause ya DEVINE ability's like CANDI in a porno
Let the horn blow Taps ya can't grasp ya fundamentals
So bad the way ya dogged you'd think I rapped in front of kennels
My mental's able like cable out-boxin ya DSS
Which stands for DEACON SURELY SUCKS like Mendle, Obnox, and Stress
Ya flow would be a catalyst but Psych's on ya battle list
Like priests ya only beef comes in tums when ya saddle kids
A medical text couldn't heal the pain and frustration
Of DEACON'S sexually repressed feelings of anal fixation
Peep my flow while I DEAC-ompose ya wack verse
And treat you like Farrakhan's dick when I put you in the black first
I betcha even God checks the sky for Psychlone
See the Light shone on me the first time I left the mic blown
Attone or get sent to Purgatory with soul rot
While I coldcock and KILL this MC FIELD call me Pol Pot
I hold the clock that's tickin on ya time left in this Tourney
I'm so hot even The Three Wise Mens IM's said "Psych don't burn Deac"
They can keep their little gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh
Cause I wreak havoc on ya flank's defense with tank immense words
When this verse is done ya'll curse ya God and say "Please Continue"
Rippin through this Madness venue like the faggots greased up in you

trap.
02-02-2013, 05:08 PM
Battle: ~JUGGA~ vs Deacon
Round: 5
Winner: ~JUGGA~
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~JUGGA~

************************************************** *********************************************
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ again emerges victorious over Elitists claiming Mind over
matter...the next opponent claims divinity...however ThA JuGGaNauT never
has been the one to believe in false Gods...
************************************************** *********************************************

"SACRELIGION"

I said you couldn't drive-"ride shotgun"-I had to chew ya ass out
Sliding on my double barrel fuckin' yaself-I had to shoot ya ass out
Blew ya ass out-if you're the Deacon-~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s the Anti-Christ!
Up in ya panties like I'm fuckin' you-rinse the blood with handi-wipes
Ya fam be like, "Damn he's trife!"-ya gull be like "And he's tight!"
I can't be sliced-you'll be slammed tonight if you don't pack ya Samsonite
Kryptonite don't work jerk-I sunbathe in radiation spikes
You going down faster than ValueJet aviation flights
ThA JuGGaNauT fuck you up like college graduation night
You couldn't cum phat at Weight Watcher's masturbation rites
Since ya type style is garbage-we should keep a lid on it
You flat like Jada Pinkett-Smith drinkin' soda with no fizz on it
Scalp ya dome...now you gonna need a wig on it
If you expect Life After your Death-you better hope B.I.G.'s on it
Excerpts from your best works still suck like they wet nursed
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s the expert who puts emcees in the dirt-you can get hurt
On network television-live studio audience tapings
Despite this raping-you couldn't see me-if we were dating
Stop hating-I'm more violent than the source for Jerry Springer ratings
Stating the obvious-'you can't penetrate my adamantium casing'
I feel like I'm facing "Ass munch!"-to quote from Butthead and Beavis
My genius is enough to split your chest in half like cleavage
Needless to say-~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ can't be touched-like red hot surfaces
My purpose is to bludgeon you till your life signs blink like my cursor is
And service kids-what you need to do is reevaluate
Cuz I amalgamate-skills and urge to kill when I assassinate
Imagine weights tied to ya legs-imagine you
Fried like an egg I'm draggin' the Deacon by the edge
Body baggin' you toe taggin' you then dumpin' ya broke
Anatomy-I hope you choke on that lump in ya throat
To battle me isn't wise at all-you don't have the size at all
I'll crush you down to pellets found in capsuled Tylenol
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s inclined to brawl-you're inclined to call emergency
If you were the only waitress at my favorite resturant...
There'd still be no servin' me-open head surgery should certainly
Cure that wack disease when ThA JuGGaNauT purposely
Removes ya brain tissue-and don't expect no back-up
Cuz my gat bust on all those-lame kids who-came with you
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ maim kids who-challenge insubordinate
Locate coordinates-lay ya down-then even give ya corpse a kick....

ThA YeaR oF ThA JuGGaNauT....

On to the Finalz.....

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Deacon

:::: Deacon steps into the room, casually taking a sip from his Kiwi Strawberry Mistic.... he glances around the oddly lit room until his eyes find his next challenger... JUGGA.. he finds him and calmly walks over until he's face to face with him and smoothly starts letting the words poetically float off his tongue:::

I pray that your soul is saved, because I don't enjoy sending MCs to eternal damnation//
I heard ya specialization isn't grippin mics it's grippin dicks for masturbation//
So you'll have more time to manually stimulate yourself after I oust you from this tourney//
'cause even if I doused myself in gasoline and put a wick on my head you couldn't burn me//
My flows leave you exposed like George Michael in public restrooms//
driving you crazy, leave you straightjacketed and locked in a padded room//
Even if you were uncontested you still couldn't win//
12 years old with a curfew, night-light, and bedtime, momz still tuckin you in//
I'll leave you fried like Chicken in Kentucky or rice in woks, fart knocker//
Leave ya head spinning like CD-ROM drives or helicopter choppers//
You are like water systems in third world countries, no flow//
Mainly because your flow sucks like fellatio//
I'm like a Gracie, bro, my style's similar to jiu-jitsu, I'm able//
To force you to tap out, submission holds make you fold up like card tables//
I'll leave you WITH your WIND GONE like William Clark Gable//
Friendless like Jim Carey in that movie about THE GUY that installs CABLE//
Get rocked to sleep like I'm your babysitter, you gotta be a crazy niggah//
To fuck the Deacon, the Louisville Slug-type hitter, that'll roll upon you like a CRITTER//
Have you swallowing my shit like you got a brown shower fetish//
So salad dress my rectum and toss it like that dish made from leafy greens, raw vegetables and lettuce//
Put you in positions you couldn't get out of even if you was mcgyver//
you'll go from jacking up niggaz in cyphers to jackin ya dick in cybers//
you wouldn't be Live if you were on LARRY KING's show on CNN, tonight//
while playing that NBA game by EA SPORTS via satellite//
the only way you could back up your shit talking, brova//
is if you owned a speaking turd and walked backwards with that mothafucka//
battling you's like fist fighting an arm amputee//
me to you is like a Giant Sequoia to a cherry tree//
your victory is about as likely as a falling cat landing on its back//
cause even if you were an ordained minister possessed by the Holy Spirit, you still couldn't bless a track//
I'm other wise known as Godzilla, stomp on you like you're Japanese//
Deacon the rap veterinarian, certified to get rid of you flee MCs//
I'll drive you to a state of manic depression//
You'll develop split personalities as a result of memory suppression//
I would have thought by now that you woulda learned ya lesson//
I'll leave ya asshole like the barrel of a freshly fired smif n wessun:::BURNIN::://
because I'm a sick bastard//
The National Weather Service watching me for naturally causing disasters//
I'll have ya ass stumbling like I dun drugged ya//
Thinking you're JUICED like BISHOP, I'll unplug ya//

:::: JUGGA's fried corpse is speedily carried out of the dimly lit room by a team of paramedics and Deacon proceeds to calmly stroll over to enjoy the next battle:::