Let it be known...a message to the fakes

[SoniK]

Verse 1:

Dear fake mcs, u knew ur end wud cum soon
came here underrated, now i'll be done soon
got work to do in takin u over
leavin fake mcs coorporate men like Hova
see the hardest things experienced when u rappin
when u spittin bout shit u no never happend
sayin u gon slap me, and bang my mums
but not even old enough to drive ya cars
i seen u cum and go, and i've killed it period
added ya whiteness to it, and i ate u lyk cereal
errit ym i got a nu spit, peeps like lemme hear it
and they luv it and they laughin if it's a diss to Erick
but i still got a way to go, i'm just gettin sum followers
makin sure i make so called solid mcs look hollower
u so gullable, thinkin u beleive what u sayin
by the tym i finished slayin, gona hav u fukerz prayin like..

Da Hook:
Oh Lord have mercy
i send em in a hearse n
lyricially murdered
serve it like a burger
we heard ya
still spittin that real street shit
still cumin with real heat bitch!

Verse 2:
Then you get a few individuals i respected
expected good rhymes
and hence i accepted them
in to my inner circle and befriended them as homies
told em u never owe me, got ya back
jus dial Soni
cuz i'm on it like bitch on cocks
any genre of hip hop, shit i got it locked
and while u mcs just into talking hard
i philosophy and got u askin hu u really are?
the question ent whether i'm gonna win
it's how u gone lose
i can do it easy or harder
jus gotta choose
some people were real mcs, ther punchlines wer witty
but came across me, i expose em like Janet's titty
but this ent no superbowl, cuz i aint commercial
with erri line i hit u with, i get controversial
so fuck ya George Bush, and racists in the south too
and the war in Iraq and get it in the mouth too
kinda funny, i felt sorrow when i saw them planes fly
now i sorta understand when i see em children die..

Da Hook:
Oh Lord have mercy
i send em in a hearse n
lyricially murdered
serve it like a burger
we heard ya
still spittin that real street shit
still cumin with real heat bitch!

Verse 3:

So what can i leave you with son
some SUN heat, spit it, i'm with it
hit it and get fitted
with new attire, my rhymes ent for hire
but i'm a ghost writer with fire
and to suburban white kids, serv it lyk Moe's Tavern
jus cuz ur skin got u thinkin ur Marshall Mathers
and then u shout out the N word thinkin u darker
in ya "hood", wathcin U got served in chinchilla parkers
thinkin ur a gangster, cuz u affiliated with a black dude
whos a coconut sinful, spittin his whack fluid
u mcs may not be pussy, and u may not be gay
but sayin that, i still refer y'all to B2K
and Bow wow, cuz u about as good as pop and Britney
at ya funeral get ur mama wailing like Whitney
sayin she "Always loved u" but ya bodyguard is weak son
and as for this battle shit, ur future lookin weak son

[Coccoa]

If you can do it a song i ll get you on the unreleased joints.

[SoniK]

u wnt me over a beat yeh>

[Coccoa]

If you have a good one send me the acapellas and the beat (mp3 plz!!! if you cant, send them to someone who can convert them) and i'll mix them.

[SoniK]

aite i get on it tomoro or weneva i hav tym and hit u up...i no u must be buzy at the moment wit all ur projects so dont rush nuttin homez

take good care

pe@ce out

[Bubu]

Damn all you guys writin over here are good !! Can't stop givin compliments