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letra de rapz of death - mac lethal

-freestyle over ‘stupid motherf-ckers’ by group home. produced by the alchemist

[verse one: mac lethal]
yo, here’s a little story all about life as the anti-christ
all about the things that we like about icey hot pores
rappers only wanna talk about s-x, they should think outside the box more
lookin’ through my sock drawer
creepin’ out his condor circle
they heard i turned my snot orange purple as an encore
soph0m-res thinkin’ that my dumb story sucks
i’m ready now, i’m done warming up (what the f-ck?)
i’m like a mix between demi and dudley moore
paradise lost in a city of ugly wh0r-s
waiting for the acid sitting in me to run it’s course
the toughest horse running with the witty and cunning force
you jump for yours, get it then you sit at the putting course
revolutionaries sounding pitifully uniformed
the stubborn h-rns hit him now he’s getting his tummy torn
awwww
you silly puddy little feminine f-ckers swarm around
so devoid i can’t the decoys i’m leezoid
but call me the man randal pink floyd
i man handle b-boys
they’re kissing my -ss for show
i’m twisting ’em fast or slow
they give me their cash and go
my rhythm with crack their skull
man listen (what?)
my b-tchy and cl-ssy ho is sick of the past and though
she sitting there
every time the bic’ers flair breaking the wicker chairs
i watch her like the itchy & scratchy show
i don’t get mad when facts aren’t certain
when people think atmosphere’s a person
or people think tech n9ne’s a group
cause every single check i recoup
i’m hitting rappers with my wet slimy p–p
it’s feeling like i took it o the head 90 proof
sp-ced out but at best i’m astute
but at bedtime i stoop to the level of your best rhyme and shoot
all you see is nets, fires and hoops
i grab ’em by the neck ties and scoop
working all the muscles in their chest, thighs and glutes
i’m walking with a lead pipe for brutes
so dress up in your best shiny suit
and don’t cross the red line recruit
my new england friend is more awesome than harvard
i chew on my pen, sword, glock and my armor
george washington carver wants to grow a couple plants for me
so he can smoke out my family
rapz of death

[verse two: sage francis]
grab your tec’s before you test this don
i spell out ‘f-ck y’all’ with black darts on a scan tron
it’s your grandmom’s shoulders i’m standing on
jump into a flip, bust a split at the dance-a-thon
i make her wear a brillo pad as a tampon
and do the running man until the cervical cancer’s gone
you bl–dy p-ssy like sage francis song
make whoopie to a def juxie make ’em claim anticon
keep your panties on, loudmouth, step back
i challenge chuck norris to a roundhouse death match
in an outhouse with a wet sn-tch to dry down
droppin’ dirty palms on your girly’s long white gown
alright now, back to business
k!ll a pimp for justice, save the day to smack his b-tches
hooooooe, that’s ridiculous
i’m like, “don’t you know who’s little d-ck this is?”
zigga xual zan
master of fresh
i rock nicotine patches on a jean jacket vest
i’m rough
puff out your pock mark, acne chest
knock the wind out of a blow hard
stand back than catch his breath
peaceful, violent
p-ssive aggressive
happy depressed off medicated -ssh0l- who doesn’t have regrets
i study abroad without having to travel west
i hump legs that are so fat they’re dents
so dense she gets left with a mustache waxy chest
i get more nasty than the backseat of a taxi gets
and i don’t have to confess
my muscle tees are black make of plastic mesh
f-ck a b’s my -ss smells of fantastic s-x
i will k!ll the h0m-phobes till there’s none of them f-ggots left
-ssess the situation jason
rapz of death

- mac lethal

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