trap.
02-03-2013, 02:31 PM
Rymatic
Attackin'<a href="http://www.urbanprowlers.net/tourney/mm2003/booga.jpg" target="_blank" onMouseOver="window.status='Booga'; return true">
</a>Says:
Nice run, it ends here…
You had some success in the past, but this’ll be different duke,
Shit, you named yourself BOOGA and still no-one’s pickin you/
Booga brought an arsenal of swords, a couple gats and a knife,
I showed up with a kleenex, and this nigga ran for his life/
A starving immigrant, at least you’re not some fat fuck with a beard,
Although it’s sad when half of the world’s wax comes from your ears/
Were they dipped in ooze? Dogg, they’ve grown tenfold,
Connected two speakers with a fishing rod just to have headphones/
Even before getting smashed with a fist you were a sad lookin bitch,
Eardrums? Naah, you prolly have a whole marching band in that shit/
The parents you musta had to end up lookin like THAT, dogg,
Ya mom a fiend of the crackrock, your dad the Toys R Us mascot/
Giraffe looking faggot, facing me in text isn’t safe,
Your neck acts as a crane for your wreckin ball face/
Tried your hand in acting, had plans of scorin it big,
“Sorry, you’re overqualified as an elf to star in the Lord of the Rings”/
The ears caused depression, that bullshit’s embarassin,
Booga didn’t eat for years. Aloe looked like the hulk in comparison/
You child troll, this will cost you a high toll,
I’ve battled tougher snot when I was like 5 old with a mild cold/
I’m battling a nigga with ears that surpass industrial size,
It’s Elian Gonzalez who apparently does his tanning in an oven sometimes/
You’re the type of little bitch that I kick in the head,
What you DON’T see in that pic, is Michael Jackson luring him into bed/
You underestimated me greatly, made a bad assumption,
Now I’m running circles around your lapse of judgment/
This ain’t cool, he’s got outsiders tryin to break rules,
Helping him find that picture of Kerry Kittles from grade school/
For food you would lick cock. Plus your writing is shit, TOPS,
Trust me, just follow Sprint’s lead and let the pen drop/
Old t-shirt, dirty face, holes in your shoes,
Grant Hill’s ankle wouldn’t be caught rolling with you/
It’s over you’re through. I aint astronaut Cobalt or a no-showing Angel,
Parent’s can’t afford a new bed, good thing he hasn’t outgrown his cradle/
We all know you’re not comin to America on a lift or a craft,
So I hope your dreams stay afloat cuz I’m sinkin your raft/
Sorry snotty, game over.
<HR WIDTH="450" ALIGN="LEFT">
Booga
Attackin'<a href="http://www.urbanprowlers.net/tourney/mm2003/rymatic.jpg" target="_blank" onMouseOver="window.status='Rymatic'; return true">
</a>Says:
NoVerse...
Attackin'<a href="http://www.urbanprowlers.net/tourney/mm2003/booga.jpg" target="_blank" onMouseOver="window.status='Booga'; return true">
</a>Says:
Nice run, it ends here…
You had some success in the past, but this’ll be different duke,
Shit, you named yourself BOOGA and still no-one’s pickin you/
Booga brought an arsenal of swords, a couple gats and a knife,
I showed up with a kleenex, and this nigga ran for his life/
A starving immigrant, at least you’re not some fat fuck with a beard,
Although it’s sad when half of the world’s wax comes from your ears/
Were they dipped in ooze? Dogg, they’ve grown tenfold,
Connected two speakers with a fishing rod just to have headphones/
Even before getting smashed with a fist you were a sad lookin bitch,
Eardrums? Naah, you prolly have a whole marching band in that shit/
The parents you musta had to end up lookin like THAT, dogg,
Ya mom a fiend of the crackrock, your dad the Toys R Us mascot/
Giraffe looking faggot, facing me in text isn’t safe,
Your neck acts as a crane for your wreckin ball face/
Tried your hand in acting, had plans of scorin it big,
“Sorry, you’re overqualified as an elf to star in the Lord of the Rings”/
The ears caused depression, that bullshit’s embarassin,
Booga didn’t eat for years. Aloe looked like the hulk in comparison/
You child troll, this will cost you a high toll,
I’ve battled tougher snot when I was like 5 old with a mild cold/
I’m battling a nigga with ears that surpass industrial size,
It’s Elian Gonzalez who apparently does his tanning in an oven sometimes/
You’re the type of little bitch that I kick in the head,
What you DON’T see in that pic, is Michael Jackson luring him into bed/
You underestimated me greatly, made a bad assumption,
Now I’m running circles around your lapse of judgment/
This ain’t cool, he’s got outsiders tryin to break rules,
Helping him find that picture of Kerry Kittles from grade school/
For food you would lick cock. Plus your writing is shit, TOPS,
Trust me, just follow Sprint’s lead and let the pen drop/
Old t-shirt, dirty face, holes in your shoes,
Grant Hill’s ankle wouldn’t be caught rolling with you/
It’s over you’re through. I aint astronaut Cobalt or a no-showing Angel,
Parent’s can’t afford a new bed, good thing he hasn’t outgrown his cradle/
We all know you’re not comin to America on a lift or a craft,
So I hope your dreams stay afloat cuz I’m sinkin your raft/
Sorry snotty, game over.
<HR WIDTH="450" ALIGN="LEFT">
Booga
Attackin'<a href="http://www.urbanprowlers.net/tourney/mm2003/rymatic.jpg" target="_blank" onMouseOver="window.status='Rymatic'; return true">
</a>Says:
NoVerse...