Link reblogged from Lyrical Magicians with 2 notes
Without your permission
I’d like to abate your affliction
Sinful diction remitted, acquitted
Like innocent crucifixion
Transmissions exonerate every emission envious
Elevating your eloquence
Expurgating your excrement
Dissociate your mindstate
To the elements
No confederate
…
Source: lyrical-magicians-fl
Here it is: I can turn anything into an intelligent rhyme. Give me a topic and I will make a dope, intelligent verse out of it.
Example:
What is this about? :
10 friends, not all of em there, missing a fifth. When I get weight, divide it by 9.8, we never miss. What i’m left with, I move with the bestest, at the speed of light L7, I aint got the energy you know what the rest is.
Answer: E=mc^2
I live my life my a cartographic schematic,
That I found in the attic, left by an addict,
Who was killed by the machinations of a pneumatic mechanic,
Using science mathematic, and equations quadratic,
Making observations in situations dramatic,
I re-write these lines,
And re-sight these rhymes,
Explode like the minds,
Of a thousand philosophers star gazing at star maps,
Looking for star signs,
Listen to my word play,
Rise on the third day,
See why im so fly my names begins with the bird Jay,
(James begins with a J, get it?)
I’ll go ahead and spit a metaphor,
That’s what it’s better for,
I’m the big cheese, that’s what they call me fetta for,
I’m the whitest kid you know when i flow so go figure,
But i’m cheap like Geico so my friends call me a nigga,
But it’s just because I’m lazy,
I conceive ideas so I don’t have to have a baby,
I always use protection you can call me crazy,
My words are electric,
Opponents scream “Bro don’t taze me!”
The shock make you itch, I got a pocket full of tricks,
Like I beat the rabbit and the kids for the kicks,
I split ya bitch, if she checkin’ out my mix,
Like a bag of chex mix and she hungry for a fix,
……………..
That’s why they call me the handy man,
I pulled my swag out the dryers,
Pulled my flows out the fryers,
Now I’m wearing all my ego, my words tasty like your Breyers,
Go ahead and admires,
Get to spinning tyres,
Now I zoom out the room tyre tracks blacker than Richard Pryors.
Click clack with my hat back in a black hatch back talkin all that chit chat like I was fat a cat. Cards in my hand like baccarat, did you miss that, then snap back, don’t dis-tract, on this-track, you might mis-hap, hear this clap, on this rap, my fist pack, more heat than a gun cap. Now roll back, fresh tic-tac, is this whack? Does glass crack? Do you understand a word that I’m saying from my mouth when my tongue flap, and the air that the vocal chords vibrate re-tract the ignorance from your brain that the streets at-tract.
It’s been a while since I posted my style,
I paint a pretty picture so you can save the file,
When the colour slap the page and the pen gage all my rage I hit the stage and draw an image of a vision that im wishin’ would comission me to be the voice of my age.
I’m not word perfect, but if I perfect my words I can create a perfect verse that might be the most perfect thing you heard, it’s so absurd that more people in a day will hear the song of a bird than the verse I disperse and to make it worse if it’s get rich or die tryin’ then I’ll be broke in a hearse
That’s the nature of this game, be hot on the mic, go out in flame,
Or stay cold, grow old, never the break the mold, never strike gold but when you go out you won’t be sold so you never sell out on your name.
Yo check it,
Check it out,
Yo! Here I come through,
Lyrical kung fu,
Artful war on this track like my name was Sun Tzu,
Count 1, 2
As I proceed to stun you
Ninja silence with my violence,
You might not come to
I’m on the hussle, tryina get that paper
Just a slice, i’d even settle for a wafer
Just a waffer thin mint,
Check ya Monty Python reference,
When I step in the room show me the measure of deference
And the difference…is
Between me and you,
Well that would take a whole other song….
Or maybe two
Love me, hate me, don’t even have to respect me,
But I’m rarely wrong nigga,
So don’t try to correct me,
Or ever expect me,
To run through this game with fake lyrics or phony,
You think I’m gonna do that, then you must not know me,
I spit my opinions,
No facts or fictions,
I wear my thoughts on my chest like a T-Shirt,
Call it an “Affliction”,
But you know I won’t tap out,
You the one full of shit, so don’t expect me to crap out,
If I don’t like, I tear it up, burn it or backspace it,
Because consequences will never be the same,
So don’t try to backtrace it,
You done goofed so hard if you think this was over,
I’m exploding on this beat,
The lyrical super nova,
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