Tabs - Trophy Room (PSA freestyle) lyrics

Good evening. It has been brought to my attention that there are still wack rappers out there. And in my on going effort to rid the world of sad wack rappers, I am forced to come and take heads once more. So without further ado Hip-Hop 101 there's rules to this cla** son Be an original writer, never a biter that's Task1ne On some quick draw sh** that's trying to pull a fast one But that gun's a cap gun and Tabs One's a magnum I'm a one man marvel verse Capcom Coal's a maniac and that's who I learned to scrap from I give a f** if you wack crumbs are platinum This here's a breath of fresh air to a collapsed lung I don't care if you got that semi co*ked I'll throw heavy shots that'll knock you into amnesia call them forget-me-nots This the type of talk that get me locked This fed up wop will let the machete chop the head of a fetty wop Got a blade to sever these great pretenders So that they remember being the fakest ever is a fatal error Knew you were straight placenta from the day I met ya Staying with the gay agenda, changing genders, bunch of Caitlyn Jenners Your frame of mind is cancerous Blinded by avarice and shiny amulets, only amateurs try and capture this I ain't having it, this ba*tard's a disaster when frying cannabis The mic is what I'm frying you lying ba*tards with It's kind of hazardous, even if I die and rising after it like I am Lazarus inside of Nazareth I ride with a tribe of homicidal savages I'm sure I'm not alone when I say I watch the thrown like Gaius Ca**ius So here's my public service announcement I'll murder you cowards and all the rest of them f**ing herbs that you're down with The mic is the weapon that I'm burning you clowns with Run up in your session with my brethren and turn it to Auschwitz These internet herbs are like verbal accountants "You already said those words" f**ing nerd don't worry about it My job is to have rapper's heads perfectly mounted on a mantle with the word example circled around it What this emcee recites, leaves the mic looking like a lit torch As a rebel I eat my devil's pie with a pitchfork This thought will leave 'em distraught Man these rappers mad as hatters cuz we manufacture what they import Dead the bull sh** and slick talk Feels like you wrote your raps in lip gloss rocking Lil Kim's gym shorts The fans have been ripped off The game needs to be policed, correction officer, I ain't talking Rick Ross You're worried about some fake beef, Drake, Meek and a ghost writer I'm worried that AB is literally a ghost writer Someone should of aborted your whole cypher Bunch of fraudulent douches supporting the music of a known biter I'm an old timer, product of them gold rhymers You hoes are 'bout as fire as a fire hose verse a broke lighter Ain't got sh** on these men, we don't depend on adult diapers When I grab a mic that's a sign I'm a strike like a pro-lifer Blow by ya in a low rider, bumping Deep Cover The Pun and Joe version to show serpents how we treat s**ers Us old timers hold it down for each other I'm no thug, it's in my nature to show love like a tree-hugger Sick author spitting darts at your clique partner f** rapping, I have a funny reaction when it gets darker That's when I burn bridges like Chris Parker With a bic sparker, til I got that sh** looking like a lit sparkler sh** starter, fists of spliffs I hit harder Go head on with this kamikaze if you wanna get martyred I'll write b**h on your grave in big marker Then f** ya b**h, that's right y'all she'll be catching this viking's balls like Chris Carter But f** it nevermind, I'd rather spend my time filling ever mind with my clever lines I'm heaven sent divine, you never met my mind You know he's lyrical like the department of motor vehicles, endless lines You only down to ride, I grab the wheel While you lick the a** of the master for the ma** appeal f** how you f*ggots feel, y'all are wack and that's for real You can eat my dick and my sack, now that's a package deal Please believe he don't need a Visa to pull your master card He's a monstrous beast, leaves his mark on beef like a cattle prod They call me Wild Cat cuz of the way I shatter stars Leave them mallowmars with ma**ive scars every you're half a bar A battle god trapped in a avante grade avatar Crash landed from Mars on top of your fancy cars You f*ggots are rocking mascara and wearing bras I'm aware that's where you are, sicker than the kid's cancer ward Advance for war, give a f** if your clique with ya Y'all ain't rowdy, you'd get Ronda Rouseyd by my kid sister L, Pun, Wallace and Kane when I spit scriptures All 4 on the jumbotron, the big picture I ain't in it for the Grammy though, my family knows There's food for thought I can bestow but you keep your pantry closed Could give a f** about Wiz Khalifa and Amber Rose I'm more concerned I don't know which is wearing the panty hose Now watch the hood lose it I think Cyhi the only one in G.O.O.D. music that actually makes good music The rest just looks stupid, that's why the kids took to it Play that sh** out my speakers and it put my foot through it f** that battle y'all thought it was really hype f**ing hardly more like a slumber party pillow fight You try to tell me that them kids is nice Might have to run your j**els cause neither hops on a LP (El-p) to k** a mic (k**er Mike) I'll piss on your top rhymers, then hog tie your non-cypher co*k-riding blog writers 'Bout to set the bar a lot higher Come and get me son this is flaming 151 shots fired (Buck-Buck) Once again f** all of y'all. Tired of these wack a** rappers. f**ing f*ggots, I spit on y'all