Boxbeaters

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Sesta] I wrote this wackness about a rapture But you'll never catch me rappin' about the biblical couches, but Here's a revelation for your patience Catch me lover [?] and they'll be like "fuck gradin'" Nah, I'm about to hit Mitus status I still blew the pieces in the presence of my absence It's simple Sesta and I say that I'll be knowin' that We stand out like [?] stickers in a packet of clothes My lyrics are never comin' with riddles Or spiritual dribble, it's Funkoars, keepin' it simple And, as for politics, well, fucks are given Like trucks are driven as any [?] To an MC who place an order Name a girl who gives mad head well: Sketchy Hons' daughter Ain't droppin' half a bar when I leave you mortified 'Cause your raps are so wack that you get tangled in the corners, like [Verse 2: Trials] I got this habit of wreckin' rappers Takin' 'em off tracks with the force of their L carriages Twist 'em up, you might get flipped up And fuck suicide, you're better off tryna diss us You spit a ring to Trials though That's like walkin' a tightrope over thin ice bro High beams and you get stunned quick We make shit look easy like scorin' on drunk chicks These jumped kids gettin' severed and split When the funk spits only speakers up will try and bump this No joke, I provoke the dope For even thinkin' about tryna test my flow This fat fella cooked the flex on a rapper Modern day sick cunt, you ain't shit When I rip up, crews seem to be no use Like dyslexic bulimics eating alphabet soup [Turntablism: DJ Reflux] "Soft–rappers" "Get lost" "Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego" "Soft–rappers–rappers" "This might be difficult for you to fathom" "Soft–rappers" "Amateurs" "Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego" "Soft–rappers–rappers" "Step off my profession" [Verse 3: Sesta] You're just an ordinary whizz kid snorting Wizz-Fizz Droppin' more names than abortion clinics did Of this planet when his parents couldn't have him I'll play games like Saturn [?] bodies till they spasm With these chemical weapons that I'm developin' 'Oars fuckin' up a generation just like metal did Two thousand and three, plus it's watered down The dam is open and now they're floodin' the town With this dry humour, I'm soakin' up these maggots Treatin' us like crack habits like they gotta have it You think your style is new? Ruthless? That shit's like sex with a Bimbo–fucking stupid Ignore the warnings and attack the Funkoars We close to [?] rap sections in record stores With beats so phat the CD needs lipo You write those lyrics to fit with tight flows [Verse 4: Trials] Gonna get precise on the mic like counterfeiters I'm bound to split chicken shits with astoundin' writtens Four bars in, ahead of my time Till I [?] openin' line's a quotable rhyme Takin' back what you said like Indian givers My style's off limits like feelin' up strippers And if so, I'll flip a flow like gymnasts Without a kid or gift for physical fitness You see? I flow doper than most "I'm scared of one rapper whose foe's name is no man" You toys are wack and that's the plain truth Fuck sharin' a track, I wouldn't share the same booth Feel alive and you think that you can rip me Before you touch the mic kid, put down your mother's titties Simply, can't touch the verse And fuck steppin' to a battle faggot, fix your skirt [Turntablism: DJ Reflux] "Soft–rappers" "Get lost" "Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego" "Soft–rappers–rappers" "This might be difficult for you to fathom" "Soft–rappers" "Amateurs" "Soft–rappers" "Drop the ego" "Soft–rappers–rappers" "Step off my profession" "Amateurs" "Step off my profession–step off Step off–step off my profession" [Outro: Sample] You better get [?] I'm tellin' you that's a lot of money You can make a lot of money