My styles are dumb
Bars smarter than all the Harvard Yard
Sending a beat to the promised land in a shopping cart
Stick to your Target and your Wally-mart
Me and my bag of tricks are sittin in the alleyways and parking lot
I chop you down like George Washington
Watch the kick and the snare
See how they go nuts like Washington Carver
Got a hold of an MPC?
Word to the Holy Father
For granting me rhymes as I spit to thee
Better fade like a tipsy barber
Drunk off of the gin and the juice;
The loud and the quiet
The chai tea in the vodka
I've no need for the ganja;
Instead I grind raps in a fine powder
Roll em up and then I spark ya;
And now for the toss up
Who's it gonna be? Little red hood or the trenchcoated monster?
Mixed with a quart of allspice and a pint of Java
Coppin rudimentary flows
But the punchlines, allegories and metaphors? Boxer
Think you proper?
Im'ma snap you like a pocky
Your sloppy. Couldn't tell the Creeds from the Rockies
Little Mac in the den of the Kydd and he gettin bodied;
Give him a couple of rights and down he goes. four stocks, g
Spittin as hot as the Keys of Alicia
You read me I'm clean but I'm crisp like the bottom of a greaser
I'm the kinda rapper you oughta be nice to
Unless you and your whole crew wanna lose your waifus
[That's your f*cking waifu, homes! Go get her!]
One time for the one here comes that ;
Pulpit hopping music dropping
Nuisance of a rapper;
Backslashers better start running
Hastaggers stuck on the stunting
Lil Kydd ain't in this for nothing;
Gonna get a ring off of Saturn
Put it on my back and get cutting
Get me in a track and I flip it
Gymnastic get to the tuckin;
And I whack a nine-bar upon you
Tsuzuryu with the bludgeon
Force trauma
And a dull pain in your back region;
Fall back or get eaten
...
Kobayashi for the
Lot of the red shirts;
I'm Picard and you Wheaton
With a beef and a bone to pick;
I'm always sick
You nothing but a vegan
Sitting on the mic coughing wheezing
Heavy breathing
Cleanest heathen
Meanest, leanest of the game
In a suit coat;
Beyond all right, rhyme or a reason
I'm a machine I'm a fiend
I'm whatever you want me to be
When I put my two feet on the scene
You gimme the quarantine;
A medieval rhyming scheme
Put it on top of a shoulder lean;
Kids avoid me like lima beans
Tryna be 5'2"
Running with a harpoon
At a monsoon and a kaiju?
Well, fine Im'ma light you
Put a good word in for the young boy and the waifu