ILLigitt
I'm a 19 year-old aspiring musician currently residing in Leavenworth, KS. I've been rapping since I was 13. I sucked at it until I was 14 and I've been good at it since I was 15. I've fucking ruled at it since I was 16 and I started getting better when I was 17. I became so amazing that I required a human sacrifice when I turned 18. I turned 19 and still have not received what is now my annual sacrifice, so now I refuse to keep making music until someone appeases me. My penis is several minutes long, and I am un-full of shit like you wouldn't believe.
www.caucasianprophet.com
Lyrics
[Hook]
Yo I write this shit called hip-hop shit//
It make you wanna rock a crowd and jump into a mosh pit//
Make you wanna trash all those Britney fuckin pop hits//
Make you wanna bump it in ya car through the block, shit//
I rock nonstop topics, ya optics itch//
All the hits on the radio, stop the topics//
You can't help but notice that the shit's called the Hot Shit//
The Hot Shit, the Hot Shit, the Hot Shit//
[Verse 1]
Yo I write it everyday, it's like amazin, these Caucasians//
Think that I'm disgracin to they race and//
It's all because hip-hop is what I'm cravin, I'm like//
"How long has ya brain been the size of a raisin?"//
You praisin, all the MTV and rock stations//
I'm smackin down on crazed agents with more demented//
Phases than all the mental patients, I spit a verse so rugged//
It ripped up my teeth, I had to go to dental places//
Take me to BET and I'll wreck Tha Bassment//
Or Hot 103 and I'll bless the station//
You cats think I'm rappin weak?//
Attack a track with my words and harass a beat//
A casualty, whenever gift-wrap emcees//
Get ripped on tracks, I'm servin rappers happily//
What's sad to me? Rappers not depictin factually//
You'd get a job in a deli to say you pack the beef//
Hook
[Verse 2]
Get out ya Texas Chainsaws, cuz I'm a lyrical Massacist//
You tryin to rap with this hazardous man that'll//
Spit a verse so hot, you try to copy it'll burn off ya mandible//
You the type to meet a record exec, and have another ass to kiss//
If you the God of rap then I guess that make me a blasphemist//
You didn't rip my verse so thought you'd have another stab at it//
Rappin is not ya thing, bad habits are floss and bling//
You a crack addict to talk to me and think you better at rappin//
I hit a verse with hard flow, and veteran action//
Behind the mic I'm workin out my verbs and mouth//
And in the end I'm relaxin with the best of my tracks in//
My headphones, pack up ya shit and head home//
You said I was wack cuz of The Word? Well, you Dead Wrong//
In a way that's so B.I.G., that if you freestyle me//
I'll let you know you shouldn't be rhyming//
My style's too sweet to be true, like free ice and cream//
Hook
[Verse 3]
As skill builds, ya wealthy, but how can that be true//
When no one's heard the underground or recognized a tight rapper//
Cuz the bigshots are bitches and nothin but hype jackers//
I write fast enough to prove you wrong when you say//
That I can't rap for shit and white rappers bluff//
You'd think it's DC the way I snipe tracks and cuts//
The mainstream sold out and so did Tight-Raps-R-Us//
My shit is key like computer sets//
I got dreams of rhymin and blowin tracks through the deck//
See I rap while I rest so my trackstyle is blessed//
And gifted with rhymes, like takin ya brain out ya skull//
I'm upliftin ya mind, I must give up the time//
To give props to inspirations, but Tigger played//
A wack video, so they locked him in Tha Bassment//
See I could never say shit, if I rapped//
About money, ice, or rockin silver bracelets//
Hook 2x
