Ix Nay on the Rap Thread Aye

[Vicki]

Pig Latin.

Maybe my husband and I should start speaking in Pig Latin so our daughter doesn't understand what we are saying because spelling words isn't working anymore.

[Hashishi]

Originally Posted by Plainsman1963

Any "rap" thread that is opened will remain open until the first flame is posted. Then the person flaming will be banned and the thread closed.

i don't reckon we could ask for much more leniance. on that note:

the highest and the tightest most enlightened lyricisers,
skilled at blunt designing and tetrah-hydra-rhyming,
stepping on-line with they heads in cloud nine
with they minds in the sky and they rizla nearby
they once again begin lyricising the times,
but before i continue on this epochal rhyme
i'd like to direct the members who just arrived
to the year old thread that barely survived
to bare witness to noobs and they defeatist designs:
see for one year straight these rhymes went about,
some respect some flames some thumbsup and some down
but the quality remained true to the lounge
and the hardcore base of this place remains sound,
so before y'all disrespect us for abusing these threads,
have yourself a gander at the quality we writ
and don't dismiss the controversy that we emanate
as purely disrespecting and tempting fate.

__________________________________________________ _
__________________________________________________ _

I’m a tenpin man standing tense to be bowled over
The temperature gets colder as I look over my shoulder
Rolling hard like supernova
One slip and it’s all over
And I’m relying on my left to finish it before I’m broken.
Words from the mystic are there to be twisted
On the mic there’s only one right
One rule to the fight
Go ballistic and spit your rhymes till they ****ting it.
Distortion, abortion and corporate extortion
We so corrupted by life we don’t talk without caution
Words when wielded by c**ts like me
Can mean more than fanny on MTV
I’m the uncut version
See me banging two birds in a hearse
Got one over the coffin the other licking my arse
She luving clingon county with two cheeks to slap
So when I’m coming it with fake nails sticking outta my back
I take flack, social crap, deal with all that
Come home to an ounce of fine herb over a pipe fulla crack
Coz my cultivation operation churning out more mental patients
Than a jail in the third world for torturing rogue agents.
Hell I don’t feel guilt, it like the man himself said,
To be a beast is to cast pain and shame from your head.

my godsend brotha, half-dead without him
clenched fists feel bliss and numb the shouting
i could grieve for the ****er in the here and the now
but i'll shed blood instead of tears in fulfillin this vow.
spaced out, without doubt
my head is ****ed now.
mentally blacked out
its a miracle im walkin about
limping downtown to the man to get the tools out
their gona be ****in war before this day's out.
i smoke some sensi and jam my senses
i wouldn't feel a bullet tipped with incendry
gona brace my arm till the clip is empty
my heart beats steady as i knock for entry.
surprise in his eyes as he recognizes my face
cuz it be the same **** he shanked earlier today
he screams and falls to the floor in the doorway
cant believe this weak ***** blew my ****in twin away.
"siamese gangsta gone ****ed with your head?
what? you wana live while half of me dead?"
he too ***** scared to get his head round my word
so i make him ****ing listen and knock the boy up.

my hydoponic kit so big it operation overgrow
i swapped the drylife for the highlife along time ago
my foes grew old and tired along time ago
cuz bobos cant hack the tempo
and they know these rhymes are bo.
i cane my kouchie second only to how i cane *****
on top of phenythilamines
i do both at the same time
and two at time's fine
when my *****es five for a dime
when *****es droppin me more lines
than i can snort at a time.
sometimes smalltown clowns
try spread they collie around
i say my ground is my ground
and bodies aint got 'lost and found'
so make a sound and i round on you
like the silent Hashassin
from droppin hot rocks down your throat
they'll only give me harrasement
cuz the cash-in-hand court
will let me cook you to death,
choke and ounce of meth
and then brag about it to your friends.
im either mentally ****ed up
or terminally drugged up,
talented hustler
or eternally lucked up.
white, yellow, black or red.
no matter the colour
i'll pump em wiith led.
and if you'd listened to the things
that your grandaddy said
you wouldn't be livin the streets like a dirty crackhead.

watch the one armed man roll up a blunt with one hand
the horticultural method to make political stands
means the untaxed intoxicant is filling the land.
nurture growth outside the system
coz legal change the common mission
and the world’s too small for friction
on the scale that we’re inflicting.
this war on drugs is for morons and thugs.
political unrest and social distress
is the result of blind morals working at their best.
frontline bureaucracy fight primetime on network TV
kitted with Kevlar cue cards
spitting statistical lies
it all turns to **** when it becomes politicised.
“Political Correctness” is a convective for the feckless
it don’t prevent genocide or any other hate crimes
but it’s a step in the direction of engraining it in our psyche.
in hippie class we smoked grass and listened to Lennon
read Carl Marx and Lenin and broke bread together.
said we’d give them hell for leather if the corporate ether
were ever to sever the freedom we had together.

snapping back with a knapsack
of weed and sic rhymes
in these sic times the abstract
keeps us in line.
if our minds are of matter
then what is the soul?
it sure as **** aint airwave chatter
from the corporate world.
what they want us to think
and what we think are different things.
phones, tunes, jewels and rings
are the tip of the iceberg
in the greater scheme of things.
it matter not who your god be
no **** be below me.
humanity's sowed me
and i'll stay here and blow trees
in the face of the fake ballonie
that is the corporate world.
and i'm ranting and raving
for a race that's been burned.
right-wing fanatics
keep our evolution static.
pretending their dogmatic
when all they is is money-grabbing.
i aint catholic i'm brassic
so i chore the collection plate.
go and spend it on some fine herb
and smoke the reverend straight.
you want a blind date with a badass?
i take you to the mountain-side
with a blindfold round your eyes.
grab your ****ing handbag
and throw you off the side.
i aint a rebel i'm desperate
and perhaps a little schiz.
maybe one day i'll settle down
with a wife and have kids.
but until the time comes
i'm running like loose cannon.
making my money by scamming
the world into famine.
and who needs a tool
when you this charismatic?
i'm lucifer incarnate
and doomsday is coming.

i thought my rhyme was in time
and to the point of the guidelines
i only rap about crimes
of the corporate kind.
and the political kind
is the best smoke to my mind;
subliminal message in my rhyme every time.
essays i could write
but rhytm's effective
its more than convective:
its all-out suggestive
of the inequality we all see
i feel for us all;
that's why i scribe my sooth
all over these message boards.

hauptmann's monthy would last me year
cuz my sanity suffered from the smoke i adhered.
my cautionary tale to the 420 lounge
is to stick to your limits and keep your mindstate sound.
its easy to toke tall day every day
and its easy to straight up drop out of the game;
but societal roleplay is top of the list
and with a mindstate shrouded in lethargic bliss
its hard to find a way out of the mist.
so if you feeling bad about the ammount of smoke you diffuse
and you scared you won't sleep without marijane to abuse,
just turkey it out, hell you'll feel **** for a bit,
but once the cycle is broken you can reinaugerate it
and be responsible and enjoy it and not scared to quit,
and with the bonus of low tolerance how can you resist this?

bowlblaze i envy the stoners amongst us
who can smoke for days and not feel ****ed up,
but the drugs that i've done have ****ed with my head
and easing up on my smoke was the best thing i did.
i never meant or mentioned crackheads in my penitent
and i apologise if i degraded your sentiments.
but it was a cautionary tale from a trip veteran,
and maybe marijane aint the only responsible hallucinogen.
when i started on my journey into the world of drugs
i mixed with all kinds of low-lifes and thugs,
and seen them dragged down into the depths of bingeing,
seen them sell of clothes on estates and watched their brains unhingeing.
i promised myself i'd never let it get to that,
and while i haven't ever put my lips to the crack
i've been there and seen it and know people who have.
i'm lucky i guess cuz i aint all working class,
and haven't had the bad **** pushed up my ass.
but i've done enough stuff to know what i don't want,
and while i don't mind toking up the odd blunt
i wanted to put across, in lyrics and rhythm,
the extent that drugs can cause these ****ed schisms
and to share a litle bit of personal experience
and to let ****s know the precursor to my delerium.

i'm a stereotypical drug-fiend ripping through
lyrics like pikachu's lightning mirable.
my surreal perspective adds new convective
to the disrespecting and the chauvinistic.
sensical be my parable,
rational, thoughtful and fruitful too;
vegetative pipe-mix drives my lyric-rule.
i'm dope-fiend well and true,
a fiend in all i do,
i'm a fiend coming for you
to toke you under-foot
to smoke you so far up
your eyes go cherry-****ed
while i smile at you goofin up.
as the original nam-na-nam-na-nam-na-na-nutter (<= rep for who knows where that from)
lubing virgins up with premium butter
local anaesthesia between her buttock
****ed so hard she got a permanent stutter.

well ****! it sonicdachronic back with his coolguy verse.
lungs ****ed and pneumonic from inhalation of buds:
his lyrics coulombic and the mods couldn't stop him
and a permanent ban was the only way they could drop him.
but young sonic was fired up to rhyme better than some crips:
he kept dissing folks just trying to rip rhymes like him.
turned to battling it out with the microphone out,
typing cusses out just to **** with the crowd.
well young sonic this thread has been going for months
and it aint getting ****ed up by a cuss from us ****s.
so keep the attitude clean and leave mods outta the game,
they just keeping the good name of a decent domain.

adidas will have a brand-name engraining his epitaph:
gold chains and rings and brand-names make me laugh.
kitted head-to-toe in bling gold with more hoes
than the polygamist treasurer of some crazy king of old?
i'd sooner stand naked and rip lyrics on stage
than sign on the dotted line and sell my soul away.
you hear me nwa and the music industry?
you took spoken word rhyming and you blew it away.
paved slabs on a red carpet of creativity
so the industry could lay foundations over tupac and biggie.
now we got 50cent and hell snoop's still alive,
but these boys so ****ing rich they've lost all their drive.
bring out the emcees from the roots of the world,
show its about truth, not guns, drugs and girls.
i see urban poets with bear quality
to outmatch the ****s enterprising their greed.
take it back to the streets and out of the chains,
out of the boardrooms and the ****ing stock-exchange.
i'm sic and tired of this supply-line of emcees and their attiring,
i want quality rhyming and fine beats and timing:
dj's and emcees teaming up and lyricizing
and bringing back the culture and social commentary
to show we don't need this **** the industry tries to feed.

up 32 hrs out and about:
i scoured the town to get the crew out.
we rolling around in more ways than one
and when the buzz wares out i'll drop another one,
i'll smoke another one
-choke down another bong,
by the time this song done i'll done gone
and monged on a buzz two days long,
well that's what they want but i heavier than that
i sleep when i pass out, like when i'm out on the gat,
after my brain chemistry's been shot to ****
by this chemical glock i got stashed in my gut
and my face turning blue as i'm busting a gut
running the game before the buzz is up.

i suck back beers while you plain suck back,
back to the eighties with the start of rap.
when it was old-school chat on a 12bar beat,
when the complexity of rap was still a sperm-seed.
the history of the industry,
goes from in-scene to make-scene greed,
to obscene and mise-en-scene,
set and setting to reign supreme.
in the philosophy of popularity.
the disparity of what we see
is the result of economic clarity;
where 'bling' my friend is the term for currency,
you see hardcore capitallists
have secured a niche:
they can keep selling to dumb young kids
who aint got a clue what a true scene is.

its 2 in the am on my side of the world,
so what the **** am i doing typing on a message board?
battle-rapping is blagging for ****ing twelve year olds
when it comes to typing rhymes in a virtual world.
so feel free to grab a mic and meet center stage,
but the fact is that all these threads that been made
and that resulted in flaming in rhytmical form
have been closed and forgotten and left to rot at the bottom.
but see i've posted my rhymes in this thread for a year
and i don't want to see some boys close it right here.
so keep it sweet and stop flaming
and finish each rhyme with 'amen'
and maybe the hating will stop suffocating
the decent rhyming that's occurred in our cannabs nation.

split your left ventricle with a flick of my wrist
don't wait to diss or to blag up the business
i get down and dirty without a glance to your missus
she's screaming "please, dont hurt him!" as i jar the tip in.
your ribcage breaks and gushes with juices
and the gun in your hand hangs limp and useless;
see with quiet ****ing nutters like myself and my crew
who can hide for days in your vacated living room
living off your food choosing from your music,
sleeping in your bed waiting for you to come cruising,
see when the debts have been made by the powers that be,
there aint no way to escape its like every day on tv:
more gun crime and more violence
another minute's silence
hard-line sound-bites
from our political alliance;
our media's an appliance to infer their own biases.
so just get high and strap in for this ride we call life,
just spit rhymes and pray to the man you'll get by.
cuz in reality its all down to probability
whether you die walking or with disabilities.
now i'm done talking, but just so y'all remember me:
i'm a ****ing born assassin they call me hashishi.

your a dope queen
you don't smoke dope but you dream
about freddie mercury in tights singin 'reign supreme',
and the campest damn rapper's what you wanna be
and the dampest old slapper's where you lost your virginity.
its decided i've supersized my stash
to supply it,
i'm like mr nice with a cargo-haul
of top-score; top quality intoxicant
so now i stock more
than yardie crews and a corrupt world of screws:
i'm forced to import new product to prove
to my custom that i be the man to come to.

bigging verse two,
me vs two i knock em out like looney toons
with a custom brand of kung fu
that jackie chan can't aspire to.
in never never land with a bag of dope trips
take me higher than peter pan
banging that slag wendy.
twenty feet in the air with my cock in her mouth;
am i sick in the head or are my ideas running out?
i better stop now before i drop out
with a level a sickness that'll knock you flat out

[Hashishi]

over drum'n'bass tunes
i turn blue from emceeing
because my crew is european
we emcee at 420bpm.
420 i'm sleeping in
with a wake-up call
from the disposition
that these cannabinoids
have left my system
and i'm required to toke
till my lips blister.

y'all jump my bandwagon
i'm pumped like a dragon.
my lyric be flaggin ya down
the darkside my magic.
i stump ya with rhymes
so tidy my timing
so blind me
and cripple me
my lyrics remain timeless.
my mind is a mine-field
my rhymes are fair ill
i'm for real
the real deal
i'm verbally chill
i delineate the feel
of a pure chemical.
i'm ecstatic
i'm your classic
emcee material
spit rhymes like cereal
when the milk has gone off.
my chat is ballistic
this wisdom is cryptic
i'm a mystic, shamanistic
tryptamine magician.
without offense or defense
i play the greatest strategem,
disembodied by the collie
i've no form in which to battle with.

loving the new-found stoner sincerity, loving the loved-up rhymes y'all spilling here, loving the freestyle flows without verse, without format to squeeze more page to the posts. i'm blowing smoke like the foggy weather i'm currently inhabiting, rabbiting on like eminem in that 8mile production. my dopehead dysfunction cause me to stop at a junction and forget where i'm driving and what side of the road i'm on. i stub the roach in the ash-can, no tray for my sessioning, this my confession that i chain-toke without rationing...and that i'm back on the soap again ...damn... is the last word in that tune 'stan'. i could go on for ever just like i am, with a lump of hash in my lap and yeah i know it tastes crap, but the fact of the matter is that my funding is lacking.

delegislate or i'm gonna detonate
twelve round tons of marijane into the economy.
all free, first-come first-serve,
you wanna see some black-market charity?
you wanna see the underworld go ****ing crazy?
they talk drug-war but they aint seen drug-war,
they aint seen the enterprise that organised crime can pull.
they aint seen a franchise the size i can call.
i just hope to god the there's enough of us all,
because it all comes down to how bad the people want it
over-grow and the drugs we do
can make the world abort it.
'cause prohibition is the stalker of constitutional affairs,
like janus with a blindfold into history it stares.
this insane mission to rid the world of friction
extends to restrict our civillian freedoms.
and i don't mean to scream inane controversies
but this state of affairs is analytically exemplary
of our contemporary world at the turn of the century.
ammunition aplenty
against fat-cat bureaucracy
this aint a human enemy its a systemic abnormality,
help us cure a diseased democracy
sell and grow and show the world
prohibition needs to stop but it aint stopping me.

bored and stoned on a thursday morn'
i've smoked too much dope but i'll still smoke more,
its yazman's b-day so he'll be stoned and all,
and all the 420lounge will be off their gourd.
vicki's vape's a detonation of marijuana vapour
and thecollector's got glass that would make bob marley hyper
and rise from his grave to toke on christmas eve
and get blazed under trees of super-skunk strains.
the hashman's picked up and smoked himself retarded
as reflected in his rhymes but he's only just got started:
rizla in hand and tobacco in the other,
green spread across the desk like it be ****ing farm fodder
he prepares for a crusade to make his eyeballs water
and to smoke at least a quarter before christmas is over

you chat like an andrew lloyd webber musical,
grab the mic like it cock when you been abused at school.
when my lyric spit your jaw drops
cuz i chewed you all,
spat on your battyboy crew and all.
you tintin and i'm clint,
you continental and i'm a celtic barbarian;
i crush skulls same way i chop lines of fine c***
same way i choke your ****ing larynx out of your throat.
leave you gargling blood as i rob both your trainers,
as i grab your bird by her barnett and give her one in your basement
tie her on your ****ing bed and cut my name in her forehead.
i'll jack your whole house and take a **** in your toilet.
don't backchat me now aint no pride to be spoiled here.
this crowd is embarassed by your lack of performance.
the sound that is lacking is the sound of enjoyment,
get back on the c**** if you want to dissapoint us.

lyricists and emcees, its all in the rhythm.
i triple-drop when i'm pilling
then drop my rhymes like serial killings
cuz i got time to kill and a lifetime to abuse.
i got drugs to do and tunes to be raved to.
i got a fat ****ing bag of weed to blaze through.
its all you baloo lets get it on like looney toons,
me and your mum in the top bunk
boy pass me the tissues.
it aint an issue i'ma diss you like a charity case
i'll grab your wallet and shank you
before i **** up your face.
hesitation aint my nature
i aint attention deficit,
i'm a ****ing psychotic *****
and i grew up locked in a cage.
deemed unsafe and insane,
they say no imbalance in the brain
is enough to explain my behaviour.

see this **** for me it come natural,
habitual like cancer sticks
it's a ritual,
writing rhymes is a perpetration of crime in these time
to get inside the mind of a whole generation
our future, our nation
with all this alienation
we need common cause
to satisfy our distaste
for the streets and the beats
cranked out by industries
in their world it seems to be
that money grows on trees
and talent's bought for free
and the bees knees is me
and we can all be
rich boys with big toys
in a world infested by corporate poverty.
and hell yes i smoked fair weed in my time,
done fair drugs and needed
to **** with my mind,
cuz the trip is essential
for me to be sensual
to understand and get outside the self.
buddhist philosophy over christianity,
**** me i'm a heathen when basptism is free,
see all these concepts be templates to see
the world as it is and as it needs to be.
in school i suffered a long spell of silence,
satisfying myself with a wealth of mental violence
then one day bully-boys done picked on me
and i raised a fist and went bruce lee
stylee, emcee wiley, rascal rated most highly
trigga and basmann holding dnb like firearms,
we got charm we got grit,
we get on with it
and we don't need the sates to give merit to it.
our own labels be blagging the phatest inner-city fabels
british history is reborn in the urban emcee
socialist tendencies manifest themselves within me
see lyrically i reign hell like it nuclear fusion
an autopsy of recent escalations in music.
we grab it by the balls, squeeze and abuse it.
with so many emcees and scenes to get used to
we'll hit the nail on the head
and one day we'll go global.

hell, i'll play ya,
my brother i'm a playa.
my boys call me vader cuz
i cut flow like light sabre.
i maneuvre like an EVA
and no cunt is able
to chat like me, raver
bruva, i got the flava.
the flava for the rava
i'm a knight of the table,
with the mirror laid out
and my vizor clapped down,
and a 20dollar bill
rolled up through the grating.

grandad put your cane down,
you know for a fact i'll wrap you around
this gat in my hand, cuz rumours abound
that you's pushing needles.
you stone cold cuz your bones are old
and i'll be rubbing your bald head
at your funeral, i'll hijack the church
and massacre your family, decapitate you
and feed you to my animals.
i'm an animal, i drop ten pills
and go tyranical, inflammable,
step back blood cuz i'm volatile material.
i'm on the run from serial killing convictions,
syrrian gangsters and east europeans.
you want a cv? try an automatic weapon
cuz you won't see me before i creep up like a shaolin
stick a tool in your head and bury you in an hole, boy.

smokinjugallo owning this thread
with his feet on the table thinking his old foes dead.
well the hashman's back with the lyrical chat.
all you emcees step back and toke from my sack,
you'll choke like it crack it so potent you'll gag.
i'll get you tripping like edgar allen poe off a tab.
bong-ripping like bob marley on religious holiday
i'll get you green as a bean screaming for mummy again.

you can look tight and dress right
but when it comes to the rhyming,
i control flow like bruce lee when he's fighting
i will blow you out the water like lightning
and you can bring a nine i'll drop you with my timing.
i smoke dai-mai in the morning
and dai-mai in the night,
i get higher than concorde flying through cloud nine,
i make e look like aspirn, triple-dropping each time
jumping up on the stage and grabbing the mic
hyping the crowd with my lyrical chat
typing shit out and memorizing the sounds.
brother you know that it's time to get loud

i'll batter your face
with my face fulla mace
i make like the Krays
and grab a blade
off the table,
slit your cheeks open
and cut through your jaw bone;
you be smiling the rest of your life.

i'm darker than slipknot bangin manson in an alley
when i walk in a club the girls turn to jelley
i've had both the ashley twins and liza minelli
my rhymes are deeper than that pb shelly
i'm like frankenstein's monster i got cause to be scary.
your beneath me; i'll jack you on mtv,
gut you live like a fish for getting that punk'd show on me.
and you might find me comical before you get beat
my left hook come from nowhere and remove all your teeth.
i'll make you smile bitch, drag you up the eight mile bitch
i'll pummel you before i call for medical assistance,
and when you come out your coma i'll be their with a wrist blade.
understand me bitch, i work underhandedly,
i wait for the moment and shank you in the belly,
shoot you in the face at point blank range like a terrorist.

[Hashishi]

original nutter from club 420
i rip rhymes like tabs off a sheet of lsd.
my dealer done test me with the dregs of the best shit
i chewed ten before noticing he's trying to molest me!
i'm a fetishist of the darkest corners of the psyche,
of the darkest psychedaelics and a knight of the mic.
when my rhymes rip all the emcees step in line
cuz all the emcees know i'll twist em like lime.
it my time and while bitches dropping them dimes
i'm dropping whole keys on whole towns at a time,
but don't think for a minute i'm too good for the mic
i'll always step back on the stage and get high
with the original nutters, with original cunts
from the highest society to the tramps and the bums.
from the gangsters and hipsters
to the ravers and tripsters,
fuck, i'll even smoke out 5-0 if they need it!

ravers laying it heavy and riding the groove.
instead of fighting each other they watching their moves.
emcees blow trees straight into the venue
and more blunts get passed than at a high-times convention.
dj please don't hit that rewind,
this emcee be phat and i'm coming up again,
let me ride this groove and turn up the bpm
turn up the bass and i'll rave like a dnb veteran

emcee cools don't suffer no fools,
with his moderating stick
he'll rip you a new hole,
strip yas to your bare bones
and flip yo momma over,
doggy style doggin her
like another leg-over.
420 badbwoy moderating cru
laying the groove
inside a da venue,
tyrranising dumb threads
and dishing neg rep
like a uzi spitting 9s
all over the set.

the 420 lounge is undergoing changes.
plains has detonated an administration grenade
and brought in the mafia(sic) from hemp cultivation
to take the place of age-old faces and moderators
and to change the face of this place for the ages.

who got the sickest lyrics
and who got the flow?
when the ground starts quaking
you know who's on the bong.
and emcees know me
like they know king kong:
one sick simian coming
to take your crew on.
make your crew run
with a flow and a flurry,
with a blow to the nugget
and a shank in your belly.
you won't think your funny
when i show you your julie
laid out on my bed
with her hand on her kouchi.

let me pitch into this round of battle bitching;
keep your rhymes subjective and your flows indifferent.
a flame's only a flame when you use the geezer's name
and this administration's tame when it comes to moderating;
they aint closed this thread after a year of emceeing.
us old school emcees don't run this thread like no creche,
this is verbal warfare that will fuck with your head,
make your eyeballs drop out and your girl turn her head,
giving head like she bobbing for apples again,
pass here round the crew with a zute in her hand
a toupee on and some lube to dispense.
you'd best believe i'm telling the truth this time,
stick a .45 up your poo tube this time.

the hashishi's back to claim this thread
with a joint in my mouth and a cap on my head,
hoods up i'll jump you and leave you for dead.
like a grim reaper i'll hunt you and seek you for game.
you best believe i'm insane so step up to me,
double my intake of e for every day i don't sleep,
and every day i lay heat on a crew or two,
everyday i satisfy my urge to destroy you:
you weak emcees and pre-school hustlas,
with your shit beats and tunes you boppin to busted.
get out of this thread and come back when you learnt
the roots of this game so you don't get hurt.

me and superstoned take the battle up a level,
lyrically i'm leading the creche into the deep end;
the dark side of the mind and sickest of the emcees,
i'd tape open your eyes and break both of your knees
but i've already made you cry cuz i'm sick lyrically.
so solid in reality that MI5 can't find me,
and my connections can't supply my voracious appetite
for the zaniest damn chemistry that ever been designed.

lost stoker's back in the house
bong-ripping his way through an half an oz
while the 420lounge begins to bounce
and the tunes start banging out proper loud
and the crews come out and the blunts are passed
with the green so potent you'll be flat on your arse
and the bass so heavy you'll be busting a gut
trying to skin up with a pill in your gut
just coming up on the phattest fucking rush
since clapton stopped using them opiates.

all you emcees step the fuck up to me,
i got a mic gagging for some dope company
to show you up lyrically with my sicko flow,
with my psychotic disposition so all you boys know
i'm a bad man, fake tans and gold make me laugh.
marijuana and chad are all i need to get off
cuz when i step in the house me brethren nah i'm packing,
me brethren nah shit going down for me to come knocking.
i don't wear no crown and shit i aint in furs,
i don't stink of versace or buy keeper's,
i'm a straight up believer in the terrorist cause
and i got agents skinning up all over the world.

hashishi's back with his indellible chat,
his raps are unsellable cuz he's sick like that;
he picks his syllables like a verbal assassin,
like a turntable rasta spinning the masses.
so when the spliffs burn and the tunes are ablaze
and my lyrics are stewing your brain in a haze
and the crews are disbanding cuz they aint gona get laid
with me burning joints with a mic on the stage,
just remember that i'm the geezer that dismembered
your crew when you come defending your turf like lemons.
standing around with your bats in hand
till i pulled my gat and wrapped it around you
and slapped you and clowned you
and owned you and all;
stopped it before you even started the war.

this thread has got the greatest damn emcees,
we spit red-hot lyrics when we come out of deep-freeze
where they keep us bionic, chronic rappers in storage
only to be unleashed when the war is on.
like a cournichon i'll slice you and dice you,
condoleeza rice you like a nuclear strike
like i fight-fight-fight; the good fight is mine,
and if you throw me a dime i'll split your sternum
steal your clothes and leave your house burning,
fuck you hoes and leave your momma turning
over in her bed, because for me she be yearning.

hashishi's back to own this thread
with a bag full of bud and a clip full of lead.
and if you scagged up i'll tear you like bread;
rip into you just like the old school said.
old school emcees words ring in my head
i'm an evolutionary step running straight through the red,
and if you wanna blag you better be the best
better be the most badass emcee on the shred
cuz when i'm ripping this trip begins inside the house,
inside your mind like i'm tearing your eyes out.
leave you blindsided as i push the gas down
tearing up rubber while spitting these sounds.
boom chiki boom chiki bo selecta,
ripping the mic like i'm a rhyme dispensa
i'll rip you inside out and bury you under
ten feet of the hardest foundational concrete.
i'm complete; lyrically i'm the sickest emcee
sicker than hannibal lecter sipping his tea,
sicker than the sickest clinical insanity
so step up to the mic and come challenge me.

hashishi's back and he's drunk as fuck
with nothing to do cuz thursdays suck
tried wanking with lube now he's run outa spunk,
run outa luck and liquor and stuff.

sonic's harmonic's are lacking the phonics
required to satisfy rhymes like i'm whoring,
while you're whored like a rentboy
by your pimp daddy-o
i'm kicking back with mescaline
on the conan o'brian show,
kicking back with them seraphins
cuz god is a playa,
and i am his bouncer
bouncing you gays about:
cuz didn't y'all know homosexuality's a sin?
so before your sexual adventure with lost stoker begins
i bust out your dentures with a ring on my fist;
this triple knot ring committing heavenly business.
i'm scarily distressed and tripped to fuck,
got a clip of ammunition loaded into my glock.
pistol-whip your head and fill your eyeballs with mace
bitch-slap you with my cock before putting a round in your face.

adidas watch me dash you as i slap you with my back-hand,
distract you with my cackhand and break you like the taliban.
i'm an assasin and you and your crew had better be disbanding
cuz i'll make like freddie kruger and cut you with my bare hands.
i'm the hashman chatting like an automatic weapon,
i got hordes of crackhead nutters packing guns and havoc wreaking
i'm respected by them rastas and them rudeboys and wreckheads
and when i push open the door the floors start quaking.

your rhymes are on the end of each line every time,
and you been on the end of a d*** since you were nine,
so stick to what you know like ringing the 5-0 before you pull
out your nine and try slotting out a round or two.
cuz i'll go shaolin and triple roundhouse your face,
spit your rounds out my mouth and blink out the mace.
i been chased by skinheads and yardie crews too
and every time they've come i've buried em like i'll bury you,
like i'll run you through and pull a tooth, and dash your head about,
whiplash you like a car crash and pull your eyeballs out.
i'll break you like a newsflash before your lyric's out,
this cynic's out i've laid you out now i'm off to smoke the hash.

coming at you straight out central london town
straight out your girl's bed with a tire-iron clenched in my palm
that i'll wrap around your head and wedgie your pink thong
that you know i like bitch, and i'll be seeing you after this tune.
i'm smart lyrically with a firestaff in each fist
spin you out with the flames and catch your bullets in my teeth
all the while lyricising and rhyming off the best keef,
the best pills and the best trips since ghandi stopped dealing.
i'm a fucking shaolin lacking fucking feeling,
but never lacking fucking when them bitches always kneeling
when they see me walking in with my fists up at the ceiling;
pupils like dinner-plates as i rave like demon.

these past flows have been pure dope
these past posts will go to show the world
that the 420lounge has got the flows
and the greatest lyricists in this e-world.
with the hashishi smoking the tranquility
and the dark kb passing up the k, see
he only need green but for me to get fucked
i'd rather drop a round one with the smokingjugs.
with the chronic and the lost always hitting them clubs
and the pothead and the fiend rapping over them dubs
laid out by adidas and his hardtime-thugs;
we knows yas rastas boys, stop acting innocent.
with the blaze and the jedi spinning them decks
we get hazed 'till we redeyed over the internet:
see we aint gangsta and we aint all beef,
some of us probly got braces on our teeths.
but we's the 420 crew and truly lyricists
truly spitting flows and smoking the dankest shit
so before we all get old let's chill the flows and kick it;
i'll load the bong while this crew goes ballistic.

i'm a neanderthalian hard mammalian
stark-raving alien lyricising the salient
untamable layman with more trips than a shaman
i'm unshamable like damian the child of satan
guilt free and unstable got no time for them fables
the world is a harsh place fit only for the able
breeding new creeds like a multiculture vulture
slicker than travolta clubbing in malta
palms rough and ready from toiling the salt
of the earth on this earth in this earth.

give it away to this city of industry,
travel price-break itinararies guiding the century,
buy cut-throat inventory for the materialist enemy,
cuz this imperialist deity's got the serial keys
to make grown men cry and bring the world to it's knees,
and while you seek the enlightened path smoking weed,
by funding black markets while they barter off creeds,
starring in the stark truth that the powers still meet
in hostile and nomadic ecenomic policy.

you don't listen to stateside but what you heard on the grapevine
you don't know old school and straight up spit lies
my sound is dope, fool and i'll make you recognise
lyrical quality as i annihilate your rhymes,
as i chop a line in time to 120bpm,
emceeing at the pace of an automatic weapon,
i squeeze you like a lemon and watch your eyeballs pop,
watch you piss yourself with your mouth round my glock,
you fucking dissed yourself when you tried manning up
to an original nutter, boy and i'll fucking cut you up.

[Hashishi]

never say die, beyotch!

[iamskfan]

uuuhhhh....Yeah Hashishi!!

[Hashishi]

just to clarify: that was a copy and paste situation from the old rap threads.

[ADIDAS]

Damn Hash why you writing 200+ lines,
You just diggin yourself deeper into my lyrical mines.
It takes you a couple hours just to come up with this?
Ill mail you some better rhymes, sealed with a diss.
Let me sum it all up in only 20 bars,
I spit hot fire, leaving you with scars.
Using big words trying your best to impress,
Thinking about every word like a game of chess.
Whose the winner of this battle, ADIDAS yes,
It dont take a scientist to make that educated guess.
Im the sherrif in town, no need for a bulletproof vest,
10000 dollar reward, a warrants out for your arrest.
Im taking shits on your rap, leaving you with the mess,
Youd think youre reading from the Bible cause my words are so blessed.
15 bars and running only 5 more to go,
Ill strip you of your pride, and leave you naked in the snow.
My shit must be cool to rhyme that cold,
Yet when Im spitting that fire, my saliva will scold.
No need to reply cause there aint no winnin,
You better rewrite that novel starting from the beginnin.

[Mishiro]

just had to place my mark on the new rap thread
too much controversy got us flunked in the head
it's like a giant grey goose got its nozzle in our bed
and tucked itself inside of our ass, that's what i said
now i gots ta give it up to lyrical pioneers
of the 420 board, they're logic just appears
but

now to keep it all pure and simple
pimple, that's what i said, i said pimple
jack be nimble but the thimble got poked
like al quaeda gettin choked, like osama never croaked
but the stream of consious shit gets us mentally fit
for the lyrical shit that makes you scream from the pit
pull me from the ash heap, trash heap, trapper keeper
like the cell phone to the dealer gotta trash his beeper
in the name of all justice to hussein to mussolini
get raped to myself, a chair leg, a zucchini

[L0st_St0ker]

haha, all day i dance and sing is back on the flame
pushin his chance again to get a ban on he's name
duck tape that keyboard to silence his game
this lame game you be playin again is the same saying so drain or change that angry main vein thats restraining your brain or this pain will remain till your insane .......... mother fucker