Mynd_44: Hmmm

don't flood my lodge. Infact I open c/o let me end your text life.

Grizzle

I will be here chillin waiting for you fakers to touch my tail.

Airmark you are good with poems. Nice poem. Khimwhite u be bad man. See as u handle the boy.

I observed their are lot of biters here. Am calling out those biters let me show dem how real shit can murd your biten lines.

Dhany110: I dont judge if thats what you choose, but this
time you lose//

Get you in a depression spend all your money
on booze//

I'm commin harder this time around, you'll be lying flat on the ground//

Surround and storm in, I'll do what I have to
win. Wether I sin, I just dont give a Bleep, but sorry man your just shit outta luck//

Cause I gotta ominous awesomeness that you
cannot diss.//

So get out your dictionary and go down the list//

Like MC Hammer screaming “You can't touch this”//

You might as well just go into the wind a piss, if you think you'll win this time//

You might wanna come up with creative lines//

so sit back relax and think a liitle.//

Cause I got your brain like a basketball its
dribbled//

so confused but biyatch, this is not a “Riddle”//

Son, you need to wake up, shape up, and stop
bein' a gay Bleep//

Only screamin teens in cheap make-up
represent for Team kay-Bleep//

Yeah, you can dream tough, but you can't
dispute the evidence//

Dude, you're present tense, I'm the future with a 7th Sense//

Cuz I don't just see dead people… I produce em with this clever text//

You “Joker” better be ready for comBAT MAN,
so get your pen in your hand//

Be ready, this shits about to get heavy, razor's in my hand you can call me Dhany//

Got ya mind racin, So Can this Retard Ever
Win? Jason Voorhees got him on his knees//

Can't talk ya deaf, can't bitch and complain, cut you up and slit your juggular vein//

ojoawo: High tym to settle the score, am headin to war, I design rhymes that shine better dan yours//

But what you got? Just line after line of shit gun metaphors…and bout to write seven more//

You gon b like I doubt he wrote all that like them be Moore (Demi Moore). Shut the Bleep up, y’already said it before//

Got bullets? Let em soar. I’ll BANG YOUR HEAD wit the fuckin AXE like guitarists in Metal core//

So dude, watch it. I’m like a noose with taut
grip… I DO NOT SLIP! (knot slip)//

But I forsee you forcin rhymes like Mother Goose was your hostage!//

I spit and teach …true hotness. While you’re the only ASSHOLE that AIN’T producin hot s.hit//

Hangin by threads like loose cross-stitch.
You’ve lost this. Behind these bars? You’s
kay's b.itch!//

Grievin, abused 'n owned, I'm soon leavin you
bruised to the bone//

But what's up with the name dhany? can't even tie your shoes on your own?//

Dude, I'll merk 'n certainly clown you before I hurt 'n purposely drown you//

It's competitor vs. predator… and kay's (case) swimmin circles around you!//

I'm battle scarred, beef sicker than SARS on
cattle farms to shatter bars//

Keep it up, and I’ll stash your blackened ashes under a crack den mattress, splashed with cat piss//

So even the bums and the crack kids, stinkin of rat shit, can sleep on your ass, b.itch//

Plus you’re fuckin trash kid. So quit pattin
yourself on the back in all-caps brackets//

Fuckin half-wit… your s.hit? Ain’t an adequate
distraction from your half-asss slackness//

So beware c.unt, cuz you ain't feudin with some rookie, am the highness//

Gotcha b,itch textin me pics nude, while you’re gettin your tits bruised, as the mastectomy ensues//

Admit it, next to me you’re s.hit dude. Just a
d.ickhead who can’t shoot…like vasectomy
issues//

both of you deserve to die.

Wack battle.

I dan show. So many wacks