Jane Doe and Ray Rip Ya’ll Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

Lyrics

[Intro: Jane Doe] Uh. Jane Doe, Eddie Ill & D.L. Tape 4. Jane Doe double EP coming. Jane Doe. Uh huh [Verse 1: Jane Doe] As I cross these bits, scoring with an assist Time hang from my wrist, rupturing like a cyst Jane Doe, nigga. We build songs with mathematics Flowing is automatic. Now it's laced with graphics It's tragic. Wack bitches want to see me I cancel their rhymes like shows from TV Supreme being or the lyrical Elohim The rap queen, whether it's clean or obscene Niggas get weened. I stay taking breath 'Cause I speak that shit you feel under your left breast I confess I'm tormented by demons My mom got shot up with some bad semen Straight from the Devil, I elevate one level Pussy stay getting wet from the bass and the treble I'm a slave to the rhythm—it's in my bloodline I got more rhymes than cops at election time You heard me on Tribe, then it was Black Star My Reflection's Eternal like a new car I shine. Ain't no need to say more I'm just a opening act but I stole a whole tour Motherfucker [Verse 2: Ray Rip Ya'll] Omega shatter, flow underwater to breathe Force you to genuflect 'til you develop fluid on your knees My impact is like a tremendous hard punch that cause An irregular beating, but, to me, it's just a regular beating. I failed To understand reasoning since a seedling Beating, so where's you mom with that evil rhythm? Sitting In Hell, freezing with the most wrap/rap while my rhymes Crumble ecosystems. After we inhale Your metropolis, we let it settle in. A high-yellow nigga With magic melanin that transform to metal skin That give a fuck about your death threat. My vital organs Are bulletproof with a force field over your headset Crush your spinal tap down to your ass crack Crushing you down like NASDAQ. Perhaps you should Reconsider that tone of voice of yours, or I'll be forced To unleash the heat I hold to melt your vocal cords It's the [?] cut from the same Mold that shaped the mighty Zeus and Apollo Frame built like an '87 Volvo with poetic novels You full of shit? I'll still make you feel hollow You can't wait for me to bust—you're all ready to swallow But, see, I don't have a gimmick for y'all to follow Wasn't born with crazy game. Besides, I don't hold Guns right—I got a lazy aim but I spit rapid Fire rhymes that connect like daisy chains All my dawgs are losing, I'll put gunpowder in their gravy train To bite a chunk out your ass. You're so bitch You should retain a maiden name, motherfucker