The Plague Freestyle (Frank151: That Grown Man)

Lyrics

Frank151 ft. The Plague (ft. Blitzkrieg, GMS, and Keith "WildChild" Middleton) - "The Plague Freestyle (Frank151: That Grown Man)" [Produced by [?]] [Verse 1: Blitzkrieg] I'm a king with it. You're clever like [?] No matter what city you rep, my city is better No matter style you use, you're shitty forever Can't fuck with Blitzkrieg—bitch, please. The Plague, nigga [?] tables filled with lords and nobleman Niggas all taking a bite the heads off Dobermans So we win before we start, so the cry is outrageous The truth hurts and The Plague is (so contagious) [?] make it straight to the majors We fighters of haters, trying the idiotic to take us We move it and shake it. You losing and faking. You motherfuckers Holding grudges like [?] used to do The Lakers Groupies who choose to face us that will lose their status Their place is in line. Equipped with the shine, we bruise their faces Rude 'cause they knew that we laced it and what they doing Is basic and that's the basis of the reason they hate us We patiently waited. Fuck it now. Ain't doing no favors In wars that we're waging, you're being hit by pages for ages Your bravest battlers are pussy—just bend over and take it We out of the game and the killers headed straight for the stages [Verse 2: GMS] I don't give A fuck what you splitting up, what guns you be picking up Nuns you be sticking for funds to be as rich as us Style, you can get with us. Sick enough to spit with us (Low) Got you sitting up, (Low) got you spitting up Blood from the fisticuffs. Try and stick me up Brag about it in a bar, leave with your fist in cuffs In your little squad, you're a god. You a bitch to us Dream that you roll with Gang Green, but you missed the bus On tour, we rip it up. You looking for dick to suck Hold up (Pause). The Plague swarm up My crew's enormous, freestyles are flawless From streets to tour bus, clutch the cordless Mic checks, the four of us spit flames, tore it up Ask your boy, call him up. Competition washed up Rhymes ain't [?]. Pinocchio emcees Ground up to sawdust—you're just in all of us Sort of a rush. Your whore will get touched, falling In lust. It's more than a crush, all in the nuts So what you saw of us? Heard of us? The nerve of us So impervious, blood-curdlers. Who's serving us? Slow burglars try to escape with my words and catch Hernias. Chop you down like axe murderers [Verse 3: Keith "WildChild" Middleton] Yo, you don't have the facts. When I battle cats My tongue's half acrobat, half battle axe: flip and swing Matter fact, after that, rip and bring back a sack I'll cap mine in cataract—they ain't seeing Jack Be nimble off of instrumentals, swell a fella's melon off An acapella, sell a felon's dwelling on some mozzarella I'm the realest villain, chilling, thrilling Cinderella Group is stellar, move more cheddar than Switzerland bank tellers You know the name numb shit like Novocain WildChild [?] things that you never overcame I'll rip the crowd right, spit a round of spikes, shifty Bounce tight, work out every day with fifty-pound mics Aaah! The ambidextrous, right-to-left Just like a light there when there are no exits Pitch-black. Get back, be careful where you stepping The Plague's sick cats spread, they leaving you breathless Haven't you heard? I'm stabbing with words. My daggers'll Burn you, stinging your nerve, you average nerd Get back in the curb. Cats have been served—attack 'em like germs We catching a burn, like pachyderms smashing you worms I'll work that, bringing the hunger and the thirst back Research that like a break Kool Herc scratched Emerge back with a verse spat on unnerved cats 2Pac and Biggie be like, "Damn, did he rehearse that?"