by Inches » Mar 2nd, '07, 23:09
Im about to kill you lyrically, your afraid of your terrible fate, so you open the gate and turn to spiritualism
Not sure if Inches sent you to up above-or-to-hell, can no longer see-or-smell so your fearing-your-vision
Mobrat is done, straight-finished, that is all for you, your late,-diminished, to end you i break-your-ribs
You try to disguise-your-lies, undefy-your-ties, try to act as a baby, and then hide, so you fake-your-cribs
Telling people im a savage-beast, how i want to kill you for a ravage-feast, now the town knows im a rap-fiend
He desperate and starts gunnin', cause he knows theres no use runnin', im like the star of the track-team!
The end is no longer near, its here, your balls gone so my only advice is to Blow-Smack and Go-Whack,
I finsished this rhyme with No-Slack, Called up your girl, but she got No-Rack, no more respect for Mo-Brat
Smack : Also called Crack ( cocaine )
Whack : Whack off, masturbation