J. Rawls - Apathy, Rise, Gaston, Wiseguy, Wordsworth, and Punchline Freestyle (The Time Has Come!) lyrics

[Intro: Apathy] Yeah, yo. Yeah, yo. Eddie Ill & D.L. Yo, tell you what, man. Yo, check it. Yo, this is Apathy the Alien Tongue of the Demigodz and The Tribal Elders. Mr. Idontgiveaf**leupagus. From Connecticut, know'm saying? I spit it like this, son [Verse 1: Apathy] My damaging blows dismantling foes ‘Cause I'll be slamming new flows up in your arrogant domes Do I be pampering hoes with Donna Karan and clothes? The answer is: no. You're played like a dancer at shows With Hammer Pants and [?], I'm like a cancer that grows Even with chemo to k** off your oversized ego See, cats swear to God that they're nice with raps But when they write for the tracks, it's all about ice and gats But when I attack, you would think Christ was back ‘Cause I'll piss in your platinum plaques and that'll heal the wack Then walk over watered-down raps, make three cla**ic Albums, fall off, then still make an amazing comeback My tour of duty's never for a cutie or the booty I'm just out for k**ing groupies like a verbal horror movie I smack thugs like walking on your mom's rugs With mud on the bottom your beat-up Lugz You wack emcees can't see the Alien Tongue That's impossible like trying to body slam Big Pun Y'all slowed my style, but my rap was packed with Bo Jack You got tracked, then smacked when I finally took my flow back I'm coming off the dome like follicles on Kojak You come face-to-face with d**h like Meet Joe Black Abusing your mind for amusement, I'm bruising Your brain like contusions. Y'all humans are losing [Verse 2: Rise] Check, sitting on top of Brandy, trade “Deep Thoughts” with Jack Handey To know me is to love me but some people can't stand me Conceited creep, I take a week to answer my beeps I'm the king—I should be fed grapes and fanned with a leaf Guys want me deceased, girls give my name to their teddies You wack, you don't deserve Life like Martin and Eddie It starts in the belly, so put some headphones in your stomach And play my tape to your fetus, watch him grow to be a genius ‘Cause even in a Walkman with dying Evereadies My raps sound fat like cats that breath heavy Blast music on a school day until the sky is moon lit My downstairs neighbors bang the ceiling with a broom stick If you don't like my style, you have the wrong taste Rise, my mind state is bigger than Spawn's cape Tapes wasted, wack n***as swearing that they laced it Face it: Rise on top like a rapist Kick rhymes that's priceless. Freestyles'll cost you I'm an honor to rhyme with but a jerk to talk to Mad quiet, you won't even know that I'm there My closet's full of skeletons—I'll hang my coats on the chair Legendary, people won't believe I exist One day, I'll be your favorite rapper and your reason to quit In cyphers, you'll get skipped while they're pa**ing to me You write your illest wack sh** when you imagine you're me But if I didn't have rhymes, then I'd probably lose my mind And be a psycho late night, buying knives from Channel Nine Even unsigned, all the rhymes I spit lethal While your career is lucky like people who need people [Verse 3: Gaston] It's the G-A-S-to-the-T-O-N I don't need no friends—just a pad and pen Got a master's in battling—best rapper in The university. I earned my degrees burning emcees I'm qualified. I'm not surprised by your departure You ain't got the pride or the heart to survive Try to convince me otherwise, but your rhymes are kind of iffy To put it simply, not even Ripley's could convince me Turn rappers to mincemeat. Ain't met an emcee better than me That's why these cats lost every penny they bet against me Evidently, they never met me. And now they wish to God They hadn't ‘cause I'm too hard to manage. Start to panic Trying to a**ess the damage. Forget the bandage—get the ambulance I'll leave bodies from East New York to West Los Angeles But, still, there's some nonbelievers. I guess I can't convince ‘Em all. I'm standing six feet tall when on the ball So let the chips fall where they may. I'm here to stay But when the dust settles, where are they? Scared them away Write rhymes every day, rip mics every night Make beats every week, I'll lead a very full life So Wiseguy, my brother, my pal Won't you get on the mic right now and freestyle? Wow [Verse 4: Wiseguy] Now you done put me on the spot I was gonna kick this written rhyme I got. Not I always go off the top. I was born with the ability To k** emcees. I got Spiderman's agility Flip on the mic like a white kid on a bike Wiseguy's got the rhyme you like, whether day or night I open you up like a Sprite, shake you up, make you explode I grab the mic, co*k it back, and then reload And explode on impact whenever I rap I can't help it. I'm the illest rapper on the map I'll wipe you off of it because you're soft and you should quit ‘Cause you're really not equipped with this sh** I come up with And conducted. Your raps are wack and self-destructed Wiseguy, I'm simply too much to f** with [Verse 5: Wordsworth] Yo, yo, yo, yo Say it isn't so. A artist that n***as know I'm light-skinned, height 5'10”, pigeon-toed And God blessed me. I didn't plan to rhyme But he gave you the gift to be a fan of mine You stand in line, buying tickets for our events All night on the cement in sleeping bags and tents At school, I used to freestyle for women in cla** Talked about [?], then they would give me the a** Then they would pa** the word on to their roommates Get their numbers for the summer and hit it over school break I laid each verse in less than two takes. I'm hard to impress My ex think I want it ‘cause she enlarged in the breasts Them n***as ain't the peeps—they lie about love They only call you when they need a ride to the club I know why you be home, mad at your chick ‘Cause she be at our shows, front row, grabbing our dicks My parents I used to hear f**. Lexis didn't hear much Little n***a sat on books to get his haircuts Few feet, inches later, an entertainer Home of the Knicks and Rangers, sleeping with fitness trainers Two-timing, so when I die, then My royalties divided by more wives than Frankie Lymon Fans believe I'm alive on some island I'm hiding in high climates, cliff-diving I ain't even done the chorus yet Chicks send me naked videos like Alanis Morissette On the net, your spouse be moving the mouse Emailing when she coming to get the shoes from my house I'm out [Verse 6: Punchline] Yo, yo, yo n***as want to s** my dimes, rock my lines Pa** me the lye, but I don't get high I'll rap for the cash, appeal to the ma** Hear me screaming, “I'm broke,” then I'm rocking a cast That your girl autographed. I can't maintain Rap 'til I'm a poor man needing Rogaine Show no shame, be quick to diss ya Cum in your girl's mouth, then laugh when you kiss her Address me as Mr. Punchline, the n***a Put you on spot just like a game of Twister You the type to rock silver, lie that it's platinum Do a joint with Punch and f** up while you rapping If I die, rely on Wordsworth to clap 'em Whether dime or deuce, you know that I tapped 'em So call me Punchline, one of a kind Soon to be one of the greatest rap n***as to shine