12. Glass Jar Raps
(Phife Dawg Scratch)
Laurelton Is In the house
Laurelton Is In the house
Laurelton Is In the house
I can’t forget Southside
(U-God Scratch)
Here comes my Shaolin Style
Here comes my Shaolin Style
(Maxx 39)
Yo
Yo
Yo?!
Yo
Pass the mic to me
Its’ the right disease
You could bite and sneeze
Would you like to please my inner most heart?
With the right lyrics for your brain to calculate
With out you hating I wouldn't prosper like a prostitute with prospects in the Prospect Projects
I height to Loch Ness, under sea adventures
I had a dream that I wrote this rhyme
Glass Jar Raps at the very best time
Dog me I’ll snatch your cats out the bag
Rats and the mags of the blacks of the rags
Of the matching actress that I bear backed and sweared to smacked
I adapt to the statues, blast dudes when my raps cued
Bad news for the do that do that
Crews clapped for what you lack, move back with a rude act
Quit the poo chat, meaning the bullshit
Lets rhyme that with full clip and pulpit then we smooth dips
Like I chewed tits, got my two licked
Pool stick new shit, two chicks get the tool tip
When they don't have skill they never keep it real
That’s just the math of the half skip path
Bad whip spears, guns knives and bombs
Suck my dick.com let you haters log on
Bad whip spears, guns knives and bombs
Suck my dick.com let you haters log on
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic, Lawrence Turner in the house
(Lawrence Turner)
Ya’ll like to spit on the beat, I like to barf!
You would’ve thought I had strep throat and a bad cough
With stomach pains and diarrhea in my draws
And athlete’s foot, my toes would fall off
And gangrene with skin that dry and flake off
And erectile dysfunction with blue balls
Plus diabetes and real bad gentile warts
Cause I am the sickest rapper to ever write some bars
So why you all up on me?
I’m trying to have a Maserati or be overseas eating some calamari
With a bad light skin hottie, standing up right beside me
They confusing us with Shomari and Steph Naughty
Meaning miraculous, a monster writing manuscripts
Making it a minimum of rappers that I’m macking with
Munching all you mannequins, y’all mindless and y’all meddling
Rapping is our medicine but y’all lacking adrenalin
Take some similes-mix it up with some synonyms
Top it off with antonyms, making it rhyme through syllables
Drop into intervals; slap it on a beat or two
Throw some meaning in it and I bet you all can do it too
So why would you want to mess with Lawrence fool?
I’m telling you amateurs that’s something you don’t really want to do
Me and Maxx, with Figgy on top of that?
That’s one in all of you *fags*not to open that Glass Jar of Raps
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic
Yo son, pass the mic, Figgy Fraser in the house
(Shomari-Chioke as Figgy Fraser)
Dog, I’m trying to fuck Paula Patton
Appall at patents, nigga you can’t jack this jack
Jack the Ripper on a swisher I’m iller
Kill a verse with a filler, fill a hearse witcho’ nigga
Ain’t no verse to deliver, service, preacher
Tell these niggas that they worthless, keep they features
Tell these niggas find they forehead, scrape em’ where the curb Is
Sold connections to murders in these scriptures and these verses
Lacking on my churching, conversating with my lyrics
Little fear a little liquor, bring my level back to kill it
This Debello in the summer, full court five on five
You with the fourth quarter, you cee who gon’ really ride
I am in the hands of the lord, you in the hands of your boys
So tell me, whose cost Is flawed?
Just cause I ain’t stunting don’t mean that I don’t got It
And even with the knowledge you can be a false prophet, stop it
Your contraband is conspicuous
Your operation frivolous, with no real goals
Mythical sold out tour, with no real shows and no real hoes
80 thousand twitter followers…
They should all jump you, beat you for your lunch food
Burn your bitch weave with the package and the bundle
Packing ratchets, you a liar nigga y’all pack groceries
I was sitting in the oven feeling nice and toasty, I’m chilling
I am the heat up in the kitchen
Kiss your bitch before I leave, unless there’s seamen on her teeth
Screaming Skee up in the V while I’m bumping some old me
Jeffrey James, Kobe, you might never hold me
You might have to hold deez ‘fore you hold your own spot
Depending on your character and sexual preference
Nigga die for your sentence, take a stand for your right
Instead of packing the hammer, I was controlling the mic, I’m nice…
Bible Scriptures from the Book of Rhyme
Uh, who-hooooooo niggas not ready son!
I don’t even freestyle
Yo lets rock son!
(Dr. ****)
Seems to me you might be a little anxious to relive those headaches, by doing, whatever It Is you can
(Maxx 39)
Yeah, that’s about right
