SkellaTon Official

[BornPower]

https://www.vtunnel.com/index.php/10...6c2045c9616584


shit, my stitches itch again
my pen easily drips venomous liquids
little kids skip scriptures and pick up big brother's guns
the grips are still rough
strength of will is my steel bustin
troubled by the innocent repercussions
attention simpletons:
don't turn this into a grim reaper discussion
my peace is corrupted by weak mumblin
keep it comin
I leave v-tunnels flooded with bleedin ice-crusted dummies
breath the dust of a man standin on a giant's noggin
tie the problems where they rightly belong
exercise the longest sight strongly
there are only two options: applaud or drop your own heat
so you think you know kung-fu?
show me
your flow is a slow leaf driftin
gettin drilled holes by killa beez
mimicry is a difficult skill to exhibit properly
your limited artistry against my unlimited armory
keys swim in my arteries
prehistoric sharks feedin on small pawns crawlin across beets
chopped degrees assault the streets
sergeant slaughter dirty moggs with thirty-aught techniques

[BornPower]

yo, I roam battlefields like vultures
breaking in your home like a culture shock
anything you've seen I raise it a few notches
bug out bum rush hell take a few hostages
if you think you can step up to my lyrics
there's another thing coming to your clique
a psychopathic murderous goon in your face
you can call me names they ain't hurting so brace
for a fierce counter attack that'll break bones
money power respect, so you taking out loans
you the teacher? you elementary peasent
my bars hold necessary food like I'm a penitentiary tenant

I develop cultures on countertops
while vultures flock to bodies droppin
holdin crops hostage to profit my haunted noggin
the prophet's targets get their topics reviewed
re-used, re-brewed, weaklings get screens bruised
I can't give you a preview or teach you from my people's evil tunage
puny humans foolishly pursue da gods' spewins

[BornPower]

pages, pen-depressed are prescribed an ink diet
I preceed riots, Yang strength correct
the basis built to connect mindsets and flyin iron
lion kings are hunted by men dyin for lyin regimes
lie on the scene emotionless
each motion a test, wolverine strokes on flesh
this breed of soldier no vest
I hold keys bearing cold abyssal crests
show apprentices and cadets how to erect sentences protected
original cadence secret agent
single syllables similarly related reverberate strangely
Dr. Yang StrangleGloves
or even just call me Frank
my veins exchanged with favored material gains
cereally slain
serials visibly plain drain credentials displayed
good riddance, lames
I spit a hood's distance in the rain
simple whip, no chains, limpin in pain
equipped to begin the invasion of crypts and grave sites corrupt
catch me high as fuck wirin batches of nitrogen tubs
this passage is Tyler Durden, the fire serpent of Fight Club
mics erupt, sunlight covered up by clouds of dust
point five kut writes with an icy touch
iron and blood
the scribe's new hires are crushes under a fiery crust
lines of lions strut
I write with time so the shine never dulls
the highest rush of fame
pines combust in flame
my mind conducts lightning and pain
iron lungs gust cocaine
coated, foes lose focus like blow's face

[BornPower]

I miss the repetition
the mindless and spineless precision
my lines spit, rewind and are re-written
the scene skips
demons drift and leap cliffs impossible distances
dodgin assaulter's clips and helicopters
my knowledge exists to drop it like this
an apocalypse, a spinnin top of sharpened shivs
the mark of six,
beginners remark they doubt the ark exists
my heart, hardened bricks
sticks and mortar, tar and grits
innocence stored in larders
a hard bargain at 50 cent
scarred tribesmen sift scents in the wind easily
eatin beets, this MC's chin drips crimson and limp speakings
swim swiftly,
this spent delivery clips ends and perms scalps
pure thirst for herbal trout, been in too long I burn it out
permanent scowls on foul opponents focused on a crown
I am bold, I am proud
and my surface is perfectly round

[SHEEPISH LORD OF CHAOS]

I miss the repetition
the mindless and spineless precision
my lines spit, rewind and are re-written
the scene skips
demons drift and leap cliffs impossible distances
dodgin assaulter's clips and helicopters
my knowledge exists to drop it like this
an apocalypse, a spinnin top of sharpened shivs
the mark of six,
beginners remark they doubt the ark exists
my heart, hardened bricks
sticks and mortar, tar and grits
innocence stored in larders
a hard bargain at 50 cent
scarred tribesmen sift scents in the wind easily
eatin beets, this MC's chin drips crimson and limp speakings
swim swiftly,
this spent delivery clips ends and perms scalps
pure thirst for herbal trout, been in too long I burn it out
permanent scowls on foul opponents focused on a crown
I am bold, I am proud
and my surface is perfectly round

Okay 5Skull i like this very descriptive especially the 1st few lines

[BornPower]

thanx.

[BornPower]

Whether I’m spitting something retarded
Or half way decent yet guarded
I’m still hitting the margin
Fuck you critics
I beg your pardon

The way I speak unleashing heat defeating you sucker emcees
Picking you off quicker than Huckleberry Finn did Cherry’s on Trees/
Let the option be more about monopoly
Rather than bettering society/
Thinking gaining notoriety
You can be a propriety with multiple options G/

my cycloptic options topple leanin Pisas
meet this evening's speaker
the author of common problems botherin bleatin ducks
speaking of peace is easy enough
but will you feed your enemies bleedin in front of your loved ones?
troubled times have come
and I don't wanna be one of the last ones
CHI's highland wonder, but without Chris or Sean I managed to piss on lawns
position my pawns to disarm the viscious dissedents against the gods
pretend it's gone, I didn't get this strong liftin straw
my inner figures predicted the trip would be long
so I penned the Necronomicon
skeleton politics with a swift collectivist fist and impeccable chess references
his restless gift reckless with scripts
his pen, a hellish imp dealin death in the IL-est depths of corrections

[Lil' Ruger]

hot lines dog id do a text song wit u homie havent done that in a hot minute holla at me.

[ChristO]

...okay, only got through the first page so far...flames, okay, okay. heat. shout to chi-town south side, illinois. all the south sides in all the cities. yeah, well, wanted to get the chance to walk through robert taylor and cabrini/green...r.i.p. to wenona from ickes homes...they dropping the ghettoes out from the sky here too, so...I'm hip to this shit...anyway, got word from a chi-town soldier about suh'm. land of linc', pro to col, like...anyway, gotta' be on my fall-back shit. and one.

[ChristO]

driven infinite distances
by an addiction to swift penmanship
blackened lips crack and split when I attack this script
first to spit and last to split
casually tip ashes spilt on my casualty's caskets
foul, I bleed black ink rapidly
black steeds travel the middle passage
cracked, savage and foreign
peasants lack the courage to grasp thorns
imagine thoughts formed
glass shattered when this dart was born
trapped and torn, Judas adapted by mornin
stood back and laughed at the fools in black mournin
his fuel, a bloodstorm stored within
breath stinkin of red drinks
he unleashes the forces of sin

...lol...bruh, Kut is in alignment. this al-jihad martial art. this far as I [a tone] got on second page so far. yeah, it's the shit I'm on. shit like the furnace heat abraham had to escape from. pardon self, I even had to atone from self, if s.p. [south philly] was right about me.
judas adapted by mourning...real ill. christ/body shit...a bloodstorm stored within...counter, no more blood to leak from the body [christ/body]...he [judas] unleashes the forces of sin...word IS bond, as al-jihad [cleansing] lives. I know wut I know. pandora's box verses the game theory...I'm over here from philly, I got the illa' nois. my boy told me I [Arm-One, 1KH] was getting good response in Chicago [about 2003/2004]. the Kut is live. the buildings up...

[BornPower]

handcuffed
chuff sand and dust in the trunk of a van or truck
oxygen demands lungs
lookin back I understand my command was rough
cannon's corrupt stuck me up for rubber bands and such
I can handle the bumps, ups and downs
dumpsters chunky with ducks that confronted me
now my tough deeds have come to punish me
I hear shovels in the streets
blood pumps and I stuggle to breathe
adrenaline rush
this citizen unrepentant gets lifted
exhibited beneath the earth's crust
the first touch raised curtains of dust
my name, a twelve guage laid worthless, sure to rust
my fame, murdered in a circle of trust
my grave, unnamed, surfaces serviced by mud
a purposeless thug stood firm against the flood
the wormed wood burnin hoods
the first whiff of blood-matted hounds trackin packages shipped through crowds in CHIolin...
but it didn't matter now
black clouds are drafted across patches
the sadness drips ashes on my makeshift casket
I had chances to escape the madness
but I had it made
major paper trails fadin away to wails
I can taste my failed passages
but now I stagger twisted
black listed by bastard kids that don't know who Lazarus is
slack lipped, half spits his crafts dipped in hash ended spliffs
rapid tracks once tapped vanish
ashy, african-lookin, sarcastic and bookish
never shook, bitches it's Mr. Brooks
cookin up the right moment for tonight's role

[BornPower]

...lol...bruh, Kut is in alignment. this al-jihad martial art. this far as I [a tone] got on second page so far. yeah, it's the shit I'm on. shit like the furnace heat abraham had to escape from. pardon self, I even had to atone from self, if s.p. [south philly] was right about me.
judas adapted by mourning...real ill. christ/body shit...a bloodstorm stored within...counter, no more blood to leak from the body [christ/body]...he [judas] unleashes the forces of sin...word IS bond, as al-jihad [cleansing] lives. I know wut I know. pandora's box verses the game theory...I'm over here from philly, I got the illa' nois. my boy told me I [Arm-One, 1KH] was getting good response in Chicago [about 2003/2004]. the Kut is live. the buildings up...

no more blood...that would be IL.

That Game Theory has been proven as a testament of FACTS should be apparent in my scripted attacks
gifted, with the precision of Ant, skellaton lifts maps

[BornPower]

Frank's righteous narrative is Yang's ferris-like contemlation
pages ignited with a wide range of topics racin
in it's way
an ancient product of minds corrupted by politic's embrace
colleges are wasted on flocks of soft blockheads, panty-waisted
campaign debates
samson versus the phantom blade
cannons blazin are erased by the demands of jades
some blame the hands of fate
unable to unravel the strands orchestrated, get forced to face it
my shit's lumpier than the porrige bears ate quick
from evening to late mornin I'm traced by agents with orange bangers
their torturous aim razes fortifications
when bored I strangulate lames over sixty-four mates
my favorite soldier makes his fortune in horseman formations
a river's course changes
but my winner's score claims all angles
choruses of boardmen supportin Doc Strange through fiberoptic exchanges
bodies of squadmen decay
unpredictable, Dennis Rodman hits the pick and pop plays

[BornPower]

this script's intentions are simplistic
for the bastards that never mastered mathematics or dig digits
y'all wack
crawl back to those tall stacks of black jack-off rags and forget about rap's crack-like callin
I'm slack jawed, flabberghasted and appalled
your backward tactics skip caps and/or scit cat get that, dog?
I spit black fogs, twist ratchets on crabwalks false flaggin
you're talkin to the captain, crunch
you're only attractin more hammers, chump
yeah, stand there stuck as david banner duck hunts
never front thug, I'm just real, bruh
keep steel tucked in cheap jeans, three and ups
sometimes my rees scuffed but killa beez still combust
I stretch lungs real to reel
my technique keeps the weak on MP crutches
ghostdeini's cobra clutch opens blunts
shonuff the shogun wrote this spritzin afro plus
but let's get back to brokeback thugs on WuCorp
the fools cavortin, true to their forms
while misconstrued, I spew a rubik's cube of sorts
mint conditioned mentals born amid bins of corn
your sticks are scorned, I penned the storm
gold, frankincense, and myrrh are the most mentioned gifts for infant lords
mist drifts in from lake michigan's shores
once again, forget this
your blessins must be hidden somewhere in storage
pages are torture to read back, much less forward
we need a WuCorp court to issue orders
here's a tissue, get rid of the simple folders
evidenced by voters
Hillary-tinted lyrics are set adrift by thick cords

[BornPower]

Originally posted on thread "Skyscraperz"

targets acquired, shark attired
spark spirals in the night
the marksman of minds combines with dark conspirers
call me Darth Virus
my darts are alive, eyes attracted to spinal taps
magnetized, I shine brightly in the tranquil eyes of madness
cry inside, our TVs guide the trials of blackness
their vile lights track our kidz
tribesmen sit back laughin, passive in the passage of time's ticking dragon
their "backwards" innocence is our sadness
another trackless wilderness is cashed in
I am Jack's lack of passion
you all talk while I'm Brad in action
stashes in the attic, handcrafted soaps packaged
explosive chokeholds until bones crack
drop stones on brokebacks
properly honed, poems grow into crops of gold stacks
foes fold under focused attacks
shoulders boulder from the facts' atlas treatment
bronze-skinned demons feast on crabs creepin
savage and evil, I pass peaceful between patches of math dreams