Rd 1 - BladeRunner vs Cyn0zure

[trap.]

Cyn0zure
To the flapping head, beaty eyed, Carlos Delgado jockin motherfucker...

You must be an abusive reverands son, cause your hesitant to mess with cyn,
I'd have to release a greatest hits album, if you were ever to get the "best of cyn,"
In MM you got cocky, thought you hit the tropics,
But ya got lost in the Bermuda Triangle, and got shocked like forks in electrical sockets,
It's the same in Turkey Text Tourney, it wont be any different,
Cause your testing your luck battling me like taking quizzes on superstition,
Your chances are slim like an anorexic Marshall Mathers,
I'm warning you now, this MC is the tourney's #1 hazard,
It's Magic how I'm going to just be given "Grant,"
Blade's uglier than children born near Chernobyl nuclear power plant,
After you check this verse youll be saying "Holy Shit" like the Vaticans plumber,
And just a question, what the fuck kind of name is Bladerunner?
You must have had bad luck the day you pulled straws for names,
Must have opened umbrellas indoors, in fear of my reign,
After we battle, youll be having an inferiority complex,
cause you battling me? thats like Elen Degenerous givin lectures on sex,
To a class of straight kids,
I'll kick it far beyond the basics,
And you got no balls, like a pinball wizard who ran out of quarters,
In an arcade whose machines are out of order,
Watch out Blade, shits about to get rough,
I must be Wayne Gretzky the way I shoot at Canucks,
Diagnosed with OCD, cause of my obsession to check mics,
And you couldnt get a clique if you were an adult website,
Ya wanna talk about your girl? I tapped her ass like the Real World's phone-lines,
You couldn't catch up if your nickname was Heines,
I shitted on you, this tournament's been put to shame,
And you're still trying to figure out how to pronounce my name...
1


BladeRunner
My business-like brigade is more than sure to bless and bleed kids/
Like whiz-kids at arcades, only a quarter effort's needed,,,,/
To advance past ur chance-less ass, wreck up tha final four/
Cynozure's the kinda whore some guys give up vagina for/
Left ya flat with spinal floored from rhymes of war, preparing to die/
Heard that u got gonorrhea, burnt the crust of American Pie/
Can't afford to stare in my eye or snare a reply from an honest-type person/
Prime time to be preparing to die's when my bombings dispersing/
And I'm enforcin ur burning urge, ur trippin off the leaf/
Meet me and my punches, u'll be shittin teeth for weeks/
Squashed ur face in cheek to cheek, get ya friends ta send ya clover/
'Kick Ass' rhymes written on sidewalks, gotta read em 'bending over'/
With a volley of 'gems' I'll stone ya an knock out ya new fellas/
C's fucked in so many ways the Karma Sutra got jealous/
Treating ya like an umbrella, 'put away' when this 'son' is shining/
Like digital clocks in power surges, I'll be sure to stun ur timing/
I'm unknown and undefined an underlined with bombing scripts/
Fighting back's dumb like metal shoes worn on a glass bottom ship/
Tho somewhere 'over ur head' is where my shit lingers, absurd/
U could buss my rhymes in sign language an not 'finger' the words/
Twisted riffs spinning ya herbs, see a million dizzy rap fans/
Ur creepy like paedophile Santa's who be fiending for a lap dance/
Lost hope, here's ur last chance or I'll leave ya with a broken skull/
Cause trouble more than Pope John Paul found with a Mary blow up doll/
Chopped off ya arms so overalls is no longer wearable, I'll beat cha/
Drop ya in an open field with like 50 starving cheetahs/
Enough interference for you winning means a heavily tainted brawl/
U 'don't know what ur up against' like leaning on freshly painted walls/