Imma killa artist
I’ll ****’em all wit witts
Mixed wit Lyrics
and twist
Taylored swift
for these nimb witz
I spit stupit dump quick slick ****
You say tan nick, I say tan nic
I sat on it, like Saint Tan Nick
I ain’t a saint, or a snake serpent
You look more like tan nick
Or a fat and ugly Saint Pat trick
you silly rabbit
dixx are for chic
So stop being a ****
My gang green; I'm that sick
You flow like an alien from a different planet
So I capted and planned it
Then left you a-band-did
Hanging all strained
With Caps-locked in
I couldn't have plan it
The way fate planned it
Headed for the top
Like an alien from another planet
You drinkin ale-he-on a comet
Cause you over commit like a hobbit
you haling ions from aliens
with Plannets and Planatons
moving million tons of megabombs
with captian planet and megatron...
you rap like an marvelComic from ComicCon
I can tell from your pic in your biopic
My genome, will change your top pick like Vietnam
I remember V at nam telling me to stay calm
While war waged on
Breakin you down at the crack of dawn
microscopic with Cycloptic biopic
optics with larger profits that pitch forks
At prophets
You still seeing what bra fits
Checking out Al's fits
Stop all that lying
Drop all your bad habytes
I play spades with mavericks
shaving points off the average
Anyone  reading this
Like ****
It's like I'm watching this
Other artist
Get his *** kicked
I stick and move like a hat trick
I’m a savage eatin my many enemies with cabbage.
You'r too weak its on the surface,
I picked you on purpose
Your last verse you forced it
It was the worse-it
Sounded rehearsed-it
Seemed so plastic
Killing you dead serpents
These short tails aint worth it
We charm pets and **** pests a side
And lets the vets decide
where the dead reside
all bets aside
You dark knights never bright
Your end in plain sight
Dead on arrival
Then streaming it on Spike
On late night, drinking sprite on Skype
This ain't even a fight
This aint right
Beating you over the head phones
Until I pick up a dead tone
All because you spit on my mic
You just a flinstone
Your chic an easy bone
Chewing through stone
Thirsty for the throne
you in the way
so you got over thrown
How's that for throne
I’m headstrong in a zone
my own-zone, changing the O-zone
Raising the bar until its all gone
my Pen dragging, the new rome
my golden showers leaving you two-toned
I got the mightiest touch
you too much injury prone
with ***** moans that should be home Moe
No **** but your *** moans
When my black snake moan
Her hormones make her moan
Some I'm home Moe
Dealing with her hormones.
Bi- the way she found photos
Passcode your mobile phone, you
In a Tie-bow, with a Bi-Guy, all tied
getting Dee-*****,
Waving hi, with a smile,
duck-tapped looking into the phone
A selfy, but you weren’t alone,
dude was hung Like a home depot, you hanging off his pole
You looked in love, text read, "waiting for the sequel"
you aren’t a rapper, you stay acting like you are evil,
Deep inside you hide your pride
Working discreet on the side,
wanting no trouble, cause we are all equal and you
stunt double for the village people.

I once believed spelling was important.
But that's just stupit.

I feel stupit .
For writing all this.
But it is what it is.
And I can't change it.
I thought maybe
You cared
Enough to read this.
But who was I kinding.
I can't change it.
Silly me
I thought my first would be my last.
But who am I playing.
Now that I have two kids.
Who would want me.
It's all goods I have what I need.
My family.
I just thought..
A little to much.
About something that wasn't for me.
Maybe one day you will feel me.
I know that it's not just me.
Who thinks there being played.
But baby.
It's all in for me.
If you want to play
But this game
Only plays
Before all cards are in.
And I'm hoping we both win!

I have an unusual friend. A small man with charms of a gentle redneck. He holds court in his garage for his acquaintances, those free or at large. His demeanour is rustic, but his wisdom self-taught. His name is Byron ( I know, it's too good to be true),  not lordly, but Byron likes the girls and light brew. Byron says, “I'll kick your ***.” every time we play golf. Not yet. His voice is chasmic and often influenced by distractions. And then on a cold, witch-***, heathcliffe driving winter's day, with the wood stove well-fired, a rascally friend opens the door, and Byron yells, “Shut the door. Do you think wood grows on trees.” On leaving the same day he advises me, “Don't slip on the ice. It's frozen.” I didn't tell  you Byron has one eye. Better yet, a patch on the other. He looks more like post Frodo  ignoring the “Don't run with scissors" warning from Mother Baggins, than he does Lord B. I dropped my pipe once on his garage floor. A special pipe. It's my bowling pipe. I don't smoke tobacco.  Byron thinks it clever to call me at work and tell my secretary he and I are bowling after school. Byron mixes metaphors. So, my pipe has dropped. Byron says, “ Let me help. Three eyes are better than two.” His cleverness can backfire. I tried to be sensitive, but there was neither an honourable or dishonourable way out. Byron hung an oak wood sign near his stove. He makes his own stain, and rubs it evenly in circles with his wife's old nylons. “It's great for the *******,” he'll quip. The two ***** of the sign are joined with leather straps and stainless steel studded to the wood. The letters painted within the stencilled lines are a dark, rich mixture. The joke. “Lift flap in case of fire.” Normally one lifts the flap. “Not now stupit. In case of fire.” I discreetly pointed out the t.The sign quietly disappeared and was never mentioned again. He'll never kick my ***.

in life you will realize the is a roll to everyone you meet,some will test you,some will use you,some you ill love you and,some will teach you.but the one that is truly important   are the one who brings out the best in you,they are the rare and amazing people who remind you why its with it..................

the best part having a relationship is getting to call the person or lay down next to them.and tell them all the crazy thinks that happened to you all day long.and in the end that's what it's about kids.its not about ***,its not about money that they give you or whatever,its not about how beautiful they look,its about can they listening to you talk an hours,and hours about stupit shirt that doesn,t matter

OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS!

I realize that heated rays of inner-scalp heat are bouncing off my hair shafts and falling back to my outermost cranium a lot while my dual nose-holes flare and retract above the twin lip areas of my mouth while my elbows hold together upper & lower arm parts. I'm not stupit, after all.