St. Cule Diss.. Round 1 STS tourny
washington
spokane
polityk
st cule
maceo
voo da teach
sts
scribet tribe syndicate
spokane hiphop
Lyrics
When this Tourney Hit, Cule was soaping a big dish..// (at work)
Hoping to get-sik fuck but luck didn’t give in..//
Battle card left em scar’d, Was alarm’d and a bit sick..//
Saw Poly – clocked out then left in mid shift..//
He’s just a kid-shit! Prolly has zits – like boys his age..//
(Damn…) cant tell if you collab’n or your voice just changed..//
Got all moist and changed clothes and your mannurisisms..//
Poly got punches by the bunches – Cule got his panties in em..//
(Dog,) I got Snippers in ya camp, So every chance you get..//
You better check your clique, Bitch, Just ask Mid sized Chris..//
Truss that if your gums flap, I got guns that make insides rip..//
Besides that You’ll need a bus pass till your buicks fixed..//
But whats fucked up is, This kid’s around some crack and he squeaks..//
Runs back to police with facts then he acts sad that he leaked it..//
Their prolly listen’n to this track as I speak it, bug taped to his chest..//
This bitch spits “Through the Wire” more than Kayne West..//
Ducking wont solve it, But im bouta show Puffy’s no prophet..//
Your ass aint made a penny, ya still got plenty a problems..//
You shoulda took a note from Progress and called in sick..//
Cuz the only time u’ll see a second round is if my first one miss.//
Imma attack with weapons Sendin an axe where ya head is…//
Your track acts as appitizer, bitch I’m back for seconds..//
Or thirds like isosicles, ‘till I finish the whole deal..//
I aint really heard of geometry but Polynomials..//
You’ve hardly grown skills, cept now you write in bars..// (your welcome)
Of Course this whore wants to battle…. Theres no fight involved..//
Think your style’s sooner to be the tune of some foul rumors..//
This child’s ruined, Meanwhile the crowd’s boo’n//
Sounds so Loud about how Cule’s pals iller..//
Lodging ninja blades – I’m Star’n the Saint like Val Kilmer..//
Took about 10 Minutes and I Spit it, Didn’t wanna fuck u up..//
Saw your old pictures and I figured u’d been punched enough..//
Stutter’n fuck… next time put some soul in it…
With all those water’d down rhymes it must be Culligan..//
So Im holdin clips shootin’ – chest burn, doused in.//
Red on your shirt – bound to ruin Stermer outfit..//
Then Im out it.. There aint no question how im soundin’..//
Like Residents of Derry – I got no doubt about It.
Stop Clown’n .. This kid is cry’n in public..
Of course you got ate…. Aint u seen the size of my stomach..//