Lyrics
[Biazed]
My lines are like unbreakable test, grab ya vest
Cuz my beats sweep the streets like they're Elliot Ness
Arrest you for rhymin cuz yo, should be illegal
It's all lethal when you be deceivin the people
I'm so evil, Knievel had to change his name
Told the Game that he's over, ran him over with a Range Rover
Took a four leaf clover, placed it on his forehead
The lucky ones are green, but his just glow red
Cuz I'm talkin sniper scope, you best be blessed like the Pope
When in my sights, you a lost hope, lights out
Cold like Deacon Frost, I speak in lost languages
And often a danger like I'm euthanasia, bitch
I am the Apocalypse, I'll straight coldcock a bitch
For talkin shit, get hit with bricks when I'm thinkin hard
Snitches, my wit and all my skill is in a fight
Just know that it's a thrill for me to take ya life
And know that I'm a villain, I'm willing and I'll be killin and
Spillin ya vitals, my rivals' survival is nil to none
Knives, they bounce off me, guns, your rounds softly
Fall to the floor, like the jaws of you whores
When you gawkin, I'm cocky, I'm like a disease,
I gave the virgin Mary HIV
Superman is a pussy when compared to me
And ain't no gang in the streets that can make me bleed
See me, you seeming seamy, wanna be me
Flowin easy, breezin, blowin past you homies
Oh, you wanna know me? Blow me, so show me the reason
I ain't rollin with nobody except Relapz and Mode, then perhaps you'll know my name
From the rest, it's a shame that I'm blessed, but you're cursed, I'm the best, you're the worst, just confess, I come first, you're what's left, I'm the word, I'm the verse, I'm what's heard, flip the bird, when I'm pointin out you nerds
Fuck a peace talk, you better run when my piece talks
I don't mean ya mouth, I mean ya legs, bitch, keep talkin
Mow you clowns down, fo pounds removin digits
Operate with live rounds, diggin ditches for you bitches
Wipe you all out without a trace, like Windex
Orkin man in the game, I'm like Raid to you insects
Get sprayed, my refrains fumigate
Lay to waste inane gangs with the same damn lame names
All your fame is just smoke, and your game is just broke
You're plain, I wish a train of gangbangers would
Rape you in your throat to stop you from the prose
Stick to smokin, stick to tokin, yo, just stick to jokin
Your rhymes are a joke, you're like a mime who spoke
Of all the lines he wrote when servin time in the joint
What's the point? What's the punchline? Shit, I don't even need a
Punchline, (nope), I ain't even gotta rhyme, bitch
Cuz I'm better than you
In everything that I do
Biazed's verse - 6/05
