i merk this dude
tilla battles
Lyrics
Yo son who is you, against me u gonna lose/
Its "Logic", u hear the "Tone" of my voice, u gettin bruised/
Cut ure legs off to show u cant walk in my shoes, enter the ring with me, and u gon be leavin black and bruised/
With the mic in my hand i got the deadly methods, quick to put logic aside like dumb detectives/
Tone Logic isnt ill, its illogic check my tone, kids bell gets rang so much imma call him telephone/
Kid u plain wack, u got no punches and if you show, think u gettin past round 1, Ill knock u out durin ure intro/
Its like dat, when a rookie meets a seasoned pro, U gettin schooled, and i aint talkin bout the high-school where u go/
Kid forgot to bring his floaters so imma drown him with my flows, Only battles he won so far, is against groupies cuz they "know shows (no-shows)/
1 on with me dog, u aint got no chance of winnin, im droppin a "Tone" lower and i aint talkin about swimmin/
In this tournament kid, u dont have what it takes,and u get thrown out like a fat guy stealin 3rd base/
Lyrics always sprayed with peppermace, so u cant see it comin, when im connectin with ure face/
CHANGE OF BEATS
U gettin stopped, dropped, and rolled cuz on the mic im fire, After this tracks done playin son, u better just retire/
Im so ill that i always got the flue, U kinda like Ally McBeal's tits , nobody's feelin you/
Facin urself man, u'd probly still lose cuz u'd double no-show and get dq'ed/
U sad motherfucker/
Its game over dude, puttin logic in a box like rubix cube/
U get eaten up quick like u was "Rubens" food/
I aint "American Idol", but i spit devilish enough to have Tone Logic runni to the bible/
Quick to make perfect incision on ure organs thats vital, If this was wrestlin, Id be beatin the shit out you with your own fuckin title/
Then snatch it, get your bitch and take her in,
Son, i served u so well, people think im into catering/