talked to a burnin mic similar to moses, heard tha word of his holy flowness / told me tha secrets of tha rhyme, now my flows are so sublime / ride a beat like the zephyr crew, spittin rhymes that ya never knew / you always gonna be in my dust, you a breeze; i'm a gust

Any girl I want, I can take her to bed/ I'm like Sandman, but dreams ain't what's fillin' her head/ then she sleep like the dead, I go bone another bitch instead/ chickens cooped up, homie, and they need to be fed.

take a girl to my place to blaze, then i give her face a nice glaze / erotic noises coming through purple haze, big dick block her airway / oh shit killed the bitch, gonna have to fill a ditch / up with dirt and ruble, not interested in feelin no dudes stubble

I'm a master of ceremonies, you the master of disaster/ my verses hurt ya, leave you in the hospital covered in plaster/ I get bread like Mrs. Baird's, you just cuttin' the cheese/ you on yo' knees, searchin' for the crumbs that I leave

you graduated; i'm a masters class, something you never gone pass / i'm droppin the denses verses, leavin mommas call hearses / spittin' weak ass prose, you ain't ridin' no flows / rhymes can't make cheddar, you're always gonna be a debtor

graduated with honors, I'm a real road scholar/ got my heart on the street, you come from an office like white collar/ you ain't baller, only Mayor you know is John/ as for my vitamins, ask your girl what kind I be on

bitch i'm the thug with a pension, the one takin all the ladies attention / you're lucky to even get a mention, frail mother fucker need to pop some vitamins / do your homework and say your prayers, cause i run this town like the mayor / i'll send the street police, and believe me they don't come in peace

You need help, need to put your rhymes up on the shelf/you frontin', the only thing you be pullin' on is yourself/ you role switchin', it's me your girl missin'/ while you switch hittin', I'm teachin' her positions

only thing i'm pulling is yo' girls heart strings, tell me that i'm her new king / she on my d - i - c - ky, fuck her 'til her pussy look like roast beef on rye / bust a nut in her eye, laugh when she start to cry / don't give a fuck about either a you, bomb the country like agnew

You ball like Armstrong, you only half in the game/ while you been playin' in the sandbox, I been makin' my name/ you know the score, I mount bitches like this was Rushmore/ while I'm gettin' mine, you be jerkin' to fruity softcore

i'm baller like artest, you lyrically ain't the smartest / tryin to rhymes like kwali, end up polluted like bhali / sounds too rehearsed, you don't have the thirst / to be the best, can't pass any real tests

we're now caught up and regular posts will start on 01/12/2010

I don't know why you keep tryin' to spar with the champ/ but since your rhymes are so earnest, let me take ya to camp/ I got a smooth demeanor, and my style's impeccable/ maybe that's why your girl find me so damn delectable/ you need a book, slouch, while my rhymes is untouchable/ you keep spittin' prepackaged gangsta shit and I'll eat ya like a Lunchable

should wear a mask to hide da acne, puss dripping out cause your face is so bubbly / nothin you can spit sticks; i never miss with my .446 / gonna pop you, gonna drop you, use yo' blood to make fondue / cause its on dude, you got no chance of being rescued

It's right you call me bedrock because I lay the foundation/ I proceed to stack rhymes so fly you need a mask for the elevation/ my hottest girl, her? She was easy like Sunday/ skip T-3 and keep it House Party; you're just a kid, I get play

Running the block, homie you underground like bedrock / ain't no one seen you, mean mugging like Pepe Le Pew / you miss easy plays like bill buckner, remember your hottest girl? yeah, i fucked her / you was left watching t3, celibate like a monk in an abbey

Time to cut the fat and get lean and mean/ I been spicin' up my liyrics while you flickin' the bean/ elevating the flock? what? all your rhymes are stock/ skip the ad hoc, homie, 'cause I'm running the block

street crier? more like lyrical fat friar / dropping elevated verses about societal curses / protecting the flock searching for a magic beanstalk / to climb to freedom escaping this growing bedlam

Street laureate? Homie, you more like a street crier/my rhymes go down heavy like they been thrown in a deep-frier/bite off more than you can chew and you get bad indigestion/you need to roll with Maalox when calling my prose into question

i'm the street laureate, you the street Iscariot / selling out friends, you still ain't gettin no endz/ never gonna run game like me, you dirt, grime, no better than algae / i can drop endless bars on your ass honky, only think comin from your mouth is brays of a donkey

Get my work on for a minute and look at what you do/ start spoutin' fruity lyrics when you really in deep doo-doo/try to take the throne, but your whole technique is one big no-no/but your flow is slow, I got you like Sonny Bono.

dog you a bitch for life like the herp / always gonna smell my balls on yo' girl's burp* / actin all thug, but yo white a hipster / download your punk rhymes from napster

Yo, dog, you picked a bad time to switch the flow up/ your words is forced, they hittin' the page just like throw-up/ you're such a fan of dancin', then take the 12-step program/ called "How to get off tha mike and let a real MC like Tone jam."

you rhyme like the paralympics / running garbled tripping and simeon / you suck more dick than exotic / dancers hate on your moves like simon/ cowl flapping in the wind like bat / man i don't know why your sister is such a stan

that smoke goin' to ya head, because your flow is straight cryptic/ better watch what you say, or you'll be runnin' the paralympics/ check the expiration date, your rhymes gettin' grungy/ I'm searchin' for substance, but this weak shit just leaves me hungry

who you know fresher than tones, riddle me that? every single bastard that steps up to bat/ i smoke more than lil wayne, but i still run this town like Prefontaine

She used to be cold, but she took off her sweater/ your rhymes is hot air, and she's enjoying the weather/whether or not you like it, my rhymes is prime like rib/you wanna eat with the big kids, but you're still wearin' a bib

shit let's let words fly; we both know you're gonna die/your mom used to cry its too cold, now all she cry my son's references are so old

When push comes to shove, you fall try play pickup, get knocked out by the ball/you wanna front, your words won't fly at Simon & Schuster/let's face it, homie, you punky like Brewster

pssh you bragging on your blog like budden, but we all know you're just frontin. your pants gonna be brown like murphy; after I hang you out to dry like jerky