zygote
01-04-2014, 07:43 AM
I fit the nomenclature of a known crusader,
Associated with holding sabres, crossbows and rapiers,
Keep a hidden shank in my fitted cap like the Oakland Raiders (as shown by Neighbor).
You fold like paper when I pick apart your broken nature,
Criticizing every facet of your own behavior.
Your skill is like an ice cube - mine is like a frozen glacier so grand in stature it could span the whole equator.
Unloading chambers to change your skull into a smoking crater.
My style is basically excessive hyperbole designed perfectly,
My grammar is fine and I write with a dire Certainty, the rhymes in each line can fry thermally your mind circuitry.
I write with a wide diversity, Vulgar would describe it as a Persian caravan adventure from Samarkand to Mecca.
You’re just a basement dweller, your Grandma’s cellar is your hacienda.
My style is precise at catching errors like a tax assessor.
This is task force Kappa Delta - we’re reading active sensors in the Alpha sector, wait Zygote has escaped, activate all Satnav antennas.
I come in peace like an open handed gesture, and then thrash pretenders because frankly I'm better.
Unbeatable like an acapella, defeat opponents at my leisure and mute you like flash suppressor.
Raw enough to give you salmonella, attack defences in half a second to completely smash your center.
You’re a badly tempered transgendered sex offender clad in leather,
You make me sick – I’ll need an Alka-Seltzer just to stand your presence.
Put opponents under massive pressure like a trash compressor,
I grow tired with your bland conjecture, what you craft is boring,
What I craft is habit forming, it should come with flashing warnings.
Without resorting to a moderate effort I could have every novelist bettered with one dominant sentence.
I’m as consistent as dead man referencing coffees and breakfast and psychological pressures.
My cognitive ventures are incredibly handled, my pseudo-intellectual technical babble can leave VERITAS baffled.
Aggressively smack you, I create the kind of things you could not produce,
The rhyme technique makes CopyPat appear like Dr. Seuss. This is child’s play like halftime orange juice and soccer boots,
So give me my proper dues or I’ll give your chest a target, I know more rhymes than Pancakebrah knows different independent artists.
My skill set is the sharpest in every single department I kill the competition market.
Regardless of your pathetic attempts I press onwards with an aggressive intent,
Study my opponents with a sense of contempt, their efforts to beat me are ineffective at best.
Associated with holding sabres, crossbows and rapiers,
Keep a hidden shank in my fitted cap like the Oakland Raiders (as shown by Neighbor).
You fold like paper when I pick apart your broken nature,
Criticizing every facet of your own behavior.
Your skill is like an ice cube - mine is like a frozen glacier so grand in stature it could span the whole equator.
Unloading chambers to change your skull into a smoking crater.
My style is basically excessive hyperbole designed perfectly,
My grammar is fine and I write with a dire Certainty, the rhymes in each line can fry thermally your mind circuitry.
I write with a wide diversity, Vulgar would describe it as a Persian caravan adventure from Samarkand to Mecca.
You’re just a basement dweller, your Grandma’s cellar is your hacienda.
My style is precise at catching errors like a tax assessor.
This is task force Kappa Delta - we’re reading active sensors in the Alpha sector, wait Zygote has escaped, activate all Satnav antennas.
I come in peace like an open handed gesture, and then thrash pretenders because frankly I'm better.
Unbeatable like an acapella, defeat opponents at my leisure and mute you like flash suppressor.
Raw enough to give you salmonella, attack defences in half a second to completely smash your center.
You’re a badly tempered transgendered sex offender clad in leather,
You make me sick – I’ll need an Alka-Seltzer just to stand your presence.
Put opponents under massive pressure like a trash compressor,
I grow tired with your bland conjecture, what you craft is boring,
What I craft is habit forming, it should come with flashing warnings.
Without resorting to a moderate effort I could have every novelist bettered with one dominant sentence.
I’m as consistent as dead man referencing coffees and breakfast and psychological pressures.
My cognitive ventures are incredibly handled, my pseudo-intellectual technical babble can leave VERITAS baffled.
Aggressively smack you, I create the kind of things you could not produce,
The rhyme technique makes CopyPat appear like Dr. Seuss. This is child’s play like halftime orange juice and soccer boots,
So give me my proper dues or I’ll give your chest a target, I know more rhymes than Pancakebrah knows different independent artists.
My skill set is the sharpest in every single department I kill the competition market.
Regardless of your pathetic attempts I press onwards with an aggressive intent,
Study my opponents with a sense of contempt, their efforts to beat me are ineffective at best.