Official Freestyle Thread

What cha battling a boxer who’s got a glassjaw
C’mon get some more, buster douglas flow/
Break you down with an iron like mike
Strike heaters out cha box, leave you sullied/
Crash course faded force synchronize up
You ain’t no Voltron Force, you just an jumbo robot
With more broken parts than C-3PO on Chewbacca’s back/
Ask you, ask who, ask if you can still chew
Think your jaw is more look than Kim K’s pussy juice/
Fragile fashion fopa mostly rawkus cut down like a label trying judge us
What’s A&R looking for a rapper clean cut like Nelly
Get jabbed in the belly, best watch for the hook/
Ever been in the ring before those bouts
Think you went the loser route/
Might wanna train some more
Hit the heavy back or just go smash a fat chick
Take two of these aspirin’s and call me in the morning/
Listening to cats with names like Lil B
Get cha shit, crushed G even with an LP called I’m Happy
What the fuck is that some lame way to get sloppy/
I rather go HAM and chop you up in the kitchen
Making some wonton soup without having microwave
that shit like cats who can’t cook coke in the kitchen/
Too tight to spare with, get cha bars up
The mental is sharper than a number two pencil/

fuck a backpack wearin faggot on an internet message board
attention whore dissin mothafuckas for no reason more
than an avatar and a signature thats a little far
to reach wish i could make you reach for the stars
but u cant even speak just type some lyrics thats weak
and i dont even listen to Lil B, but i bet hes more of a G-
than some faggot with a keyboard writing albums for free
so go make another thread cuz i dont want any head
from some fucking neckbeard on a hip hop site with pubic dreads
step the fuck off my sack before you get dickslapped
right in your little bitch mouth til all you can taste is my cack
all i want to do is smoke weed and write raps
but because of fucking haters i cant even do that
so ill just buy a Wu-Tang CD and pretend to be black
make 100 threads in Temple of Darts every day writin raps
for no pay and no lay, just beatin my dick every day
with my left hand clickin Submit Reply wishin id die

its a long haul moving shit like u haul
rappers got a cross dressing obession like rupaul
i lay law down like clean sheets to former peeps
looking for broth and only found beef
well heated see em swelled seated
ice pack in hand u got handled so u retreated
your woman u mistreated so i had to beat it
until i skeeted then dipped into the night
like hungry bats in flight cant fight the bloodthirst
you know your finished like a crip caught selling
crack on a latin kings turf
it gets worse than a wacka track i would rather hear a parrot rap

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by SHRAP

fuck a backpack wearin faggot on an internet message board
attention whore dissin mothafuckas for no reason more
than an avatar and a signature thats a little far
to reach wish i could make you reach for the stars
but u cant even speak just type some lyrics thats weak
and i dont even listen to Lil B, but i bet hes more of a G-
than some faggot with a keyboard writing albums for free
so go make another thread cuz i dont want any head
from some fucking neckbeard on a hip hop site with pubic dreads
step the fuck off my sack before you get dickslapped
right in your little bitch mouth til all you can taste is my cack
all i want to do is smoke weed and write raps
but because of fucking haters i cant even do that
so ill just buy a Wu-Tang CD and pretend to be black
make 100 threads in Temple of Darts every day writin raps
for no pay and no lay, just beatin my dick every day
with my left hand clickin Submit Reply wishin id die

---

Punks who think they sharp,
When they just dull as a knife that ain’t been sharpen
Get cut by ya own blade ya weak darts ain’t leave a mark/
I wrote one line about cha, you dedicated a whole verse to me
Man you must be feeling ya self like Michael’s Zombie touching other dead kids/
I can write as much more as I want, it’s called a dedication to my craft
When’s the last time you picked up a pen and left the crib/
I don’t need to beat nothing when you’re just like chicken stuffing
Your thinking too much to get much more of response/
I’ve been running the temple while you still was just a thought
Ya just mad cuz you’re cherry ain’t get popped yet/
I don’t need to pretend to be anything I am not
You’re not rapping you just too butt checks clapping/
With or without a keyboard I can end cha career
Never needed the net to rep your just a lie being detected/
You could survive on beats where samples will cut cha up
Like I got a blade to your arties, leaving your blood on the keyboard
While you struggling to rot or hit reply/
Just Cut+Paste this diss is the wish you wish ya had,
waking up THE SHEEP this ain’t Dragonball Z I don’t grant shit/
I rather CTRL+ALT+Delete cha verse,
and turn ya off like another broken laptop/

bring all your lap dogs, i feed em all lamb chops
after i cut up a sheep and hang his wool out to dry
close your eyes cuz u bout to get exorcised
you foul demon lurkin in message boards dreamin
of a young fly guy dousin your face with semen
your wish is granted as i bust in your face with damage
if you release an album it should come with a hammock
cuz countin sheep puts me to sleep you loud but weak
bitch your lyrics aint deep only your asshole,
i blast foes comin out the woodwork shootin like Rambo
your a washed up Hulk Hogan suburban commando,
rhymes aint fit for the wax of a dollar store candle
a verse for each one of your lines bitch i got ammo
you aint fit for flowin stick to singin soprano,
return your nuts to customer service cuz they aint fit ya
your words aint worth a beat or even the ink in a printer

enemies approachin im focused to roast em
sneaky like Trojans but im War the Horseman
smokin some potent marijuana clouds blowin
your house down the Big Bad Wolfs back in town
doggies try to paddle but then drown
people say im backwards I shoot, then clown
and ask questions later where to bury a hater
whos their next of kin to receive their cremated-
ashes cuz ill blast em along with they whole faction
a one man army Sicka than Aidz caught at a party

more of the mortal mortality dying is a brutal reality
shop is setup speed increasingly sped up
live what others died to achieve
no fronting new style means fire to breed
at heaves of heavies belly blast medlies
i stay hell flipping like the dead lees
cut chefs cooking fried chicken bloody red grease
best bees since killers capturing squealers
your not top billing until u pay the billers

If you’re having rapping problems,
I feel bad son ya can’t put a dart together s
I have 100 bars but yours ain’t one/
I’m a death merchant but weapons ain’t one of e’m
Get cha with bars, slang and words that hurt
Harder than anything physical that can be inflicted/
Get ripped by the S-H there ain’t no debate
You can ramble off the rest of my name/
Catch in the game, I play in league with shadows
We can do battles in ciphers or dance floors/
Get it harder than pencils you scribbling with
Now you jibber jabbing asking like you can’t have it/
I am maverick like top gun not apple ipad son
Speak on topics get move like your optics/
You couldn’t even spit cha way outta sermon
Done with TJ Jakes and music provided by Erick Sermon/
So put down the microphone and pick up them pens
And become a ghost and write for some of the greats/
So when I speak my mind, they always ask me “where do you spend your nights?”
I respond with pen in my hand jamming out to beats
Write more scripts than Shakespeare could imagine/
Haggler vs. Hernes, when are emcees gonna learn
Not to mess with the Sheep, I go deeper than the navy
Harder than your biggest army, and leave you salvaging your like Marmaduke/
Get rebuked and rebuffed like the political right vs. the left
Wanna see what I got left when I hit cha like a big of bricks/

my tasks the force verbal murder course
light the torch walking through the darkness in shorts
and wife beater defeater of bosses, and leaders
that leadership hungry wolves we feed a clip
talking about your a boxer u need brass knuckles to beat a bitch
we all know your tank runneth over with sugar u frosted flake
i bet this fake would get knocked the fuck out by drake
mascara on your face with those skinnys on
gay bashing assasins rung the alarm they mean harm
weapons drawn like sketches fuck your guesses
of who the best is we topple your top five
enter your enterprise to your suprise for the grand prize
run the grands or lose your dammed life
in the sea we swam like seals chest protected by
a solid gold shield better prey that hollows wont peel

Get e’m like pit bulls in the park, I got the sword that’s sharp
Roast e’m cold, and get slain with a C-sharp like shorty was stringing the harp/
Hated on me, I’ll show what cha know, gimme the spark
Feel the fear from the dark, why don’t cha play that B-flat/
Nah best be flat, get them blustering winds up
And de-spell you like them old options back in the day/
Up the menu, nah not the dollar menu
I meant the task that ask you what cha wanna do/
Get duped like two scoops, you ain’t printing right
I’m too tight to type out typos right flows be tight yo/
Trying to play me The Atmosphere batting in arenas like I’m a gladiator
Get cha heated and overestimated like trying to fix a broken radiator/

Events increase extinction levels beyond comprehension
Taking over like paranoia inhumane like the slave lynchings
Old tactics of the devils who quote bible scriptures and molest seeds
Straight jacking beating niggas with bags of ice for weed
It's all this malice that got me off like the killers of christopher Wallace
Face the proof the governments fucking u like a virgin on the roof
Got you in a fancy wishing u had your soul back
That old hoe u fucked gave u the claps that give ovation
Niggas on the downlow get caught slipping with guns low

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by J.T.S.

Niggas on the downlow get caught slipping with guns low

---

So I say fuck these Carlton Winslows that never been low
Tiptoe through they hood at night with somethin to pierce Teflon
Devil gon make me kill so throw that record on,
And play it back, backwards like Im wearin a red hat,
Like a Fred Durst sayin some bullshit on a track,
Just to sell some mother fuckin records,
And not to have my shit go triple wood- pecker
And sayin fuck your shit while watchin reruns of Becker
Divine nemesis, feels like Im dead and in remembrance
Soul ripped from my chest over a frickin bitch,
Or even less, time is money aint got a millisecond
To figure from where came these psychological weapons,
To kill half a planets population without usin a weapon
While the other half bleed and starve 2 death who are the next men
To feel the Wrath like they ate the Grapes...
U know its time to make this the Planet of the Apes.

secretly securing the hideout before prosecution
Pot distribution to regulate the revolution
He shoots the heat then toss em wade stlyle
The one you hate know blatant with blades out
Way wilder than gene fuck generic gleam
Sub machine weaponry dream mad green
Calling yourself a dealer as if u had fiends
Spleen removed on the move connection improved
Biting my shit like charleston chews

Im the furthest from normal whole life paranormal
Ghostwriters i skillfully scorned you drained of wage
Throw verses with baboon rage trapped in a cave
Surrounded by bats sleeping my phrase deepens
Shitty niggas need depends and aspirins
Breaking bionic blends and hands that lend
Mastermind gen temple protector pressure points hit again
Send your best men, raiders, and rebels
Hollows left em sleeping with devils
Dialects rapid as thrown pebbles

Amid the strips of gaza turbin wearing civilians staring and starving
Seeing fellow soldiers get war crimes pardonded
Shell shocked from sights of booby trap explosions
When my hammer hit lands it causes erosions
Chosen oath breaker my whole team shoot up courts like the lakers
Fighting the past charges iz the hardest task force me to blast
After smoking afgan hash relapsed and i'm smashed
Injured from an unsolved mystery crash
Intoxicated and high let the audio blast
.