Dan-e-o - Constipated lyrics

CHORUS (x2): It's about time I drop my sh**! Every bit of my skit's seen as fit to make a hit, while n***az trip I got sick 'bout all this time that I waited Now I gotta drop my sh** cuz I've been feeling constipated n***az of all persuasions is wasting time durations on creations The application of my vexation's abrasions and dome inflations My lips slips a blitz of skits with obesity To rappers, I'm a cake that tastes like sh**, they want no piece of me Please, pussies get punctured, my poems impose a**umption That nigz who big up their chest, my function's a f**in' breast reduction You s** sh**, so shut your crotch licker Think not about AIDS, cancer and leukemia n***a, I'm sicker! What I jot'll break ya like bottles, my throat throttles Put a statue on skates, you can't get a better role model This sample's an example of ample artistic carnage I put your garbage raps in bondage, pay the lord some homage I make mockeries of your glossaries in this odyssey If God made D a steak, you fakes couldn't put a fork in me Take what you wrote and elope Or sprinkle some c**aine on your a**hole if you want your sh** to be dope! CHORUS (x1) My chapters manufacture fractures, your knack to be an actor Is a factor in the fact that my rapture captures your pack to smack 'em down like tractors Practice can't make you perfect, you're the exception My perception is that your mother shows no affection for your conception The reception of your invention makes your dome hurt My flow splurts to give n***az problems like math homework The provision of my rendition escapes your vision Causing collision with your mission, your condition needs physicians Lyrically I'm superior by far Rappers enrol in mini-golf lessons if you wanna be up to par My creative concepts cause kids to cling To clues of how I come with novel ideas like Stephen King I take no vacation from my verbal vocation Your vegetated ventilation needs a vocal variation Your position in hip-hop should be ridded You're like my dick to a virgin n***a, you don't f**in' fit in! CHORUS (x2) This ba*tard mastered blasting ma**es of a**es of all cla**es The fastest sprinter could not get pa**ed this inventor of ma**ive cla**ics s**ers get sliced by syllables and similes Got flavour like a hill of beans as big as the Philippines n***az get mic excited but need Pointers from Sisters My scripts will indeed work to make Siskel & Ebert give this Two thumbs up, who comes rough to pump 'nuff true funk stuff Your raps encourages the purchases of earmuffs Bluffs is what you're calling when balling you're better I dare you to come near, I'll take care of you like a babysitter sh** I shoulda shot ya straight to ya grill Still, lyrics load my lips to buck ya like a dollar bill The reaction to your subtraction is satisfaction Your traction had no sanction, my counteraction left you in fractions Here's the reason MCs have fears of me I'm like a toilet with no sense of humour, I take my sh** seriously CHORUS (x2)