Club joint. Props to Auditory for the beat.
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
[Intro]
There's tension in the club//
There's tension in the club//
[Hook 8x]
Tension in the club//
[Verse 1]
Ya can't fuck with a rapper that's back and he's vicious//
I'm makin moves to improve while ya smackin these bitches//
Gatherin riches, I'm packin the accurate lyrics//
And doin' it so fast it's my bad if I happen to finish//
Before my time, I'm attackin and stackin the hitlist//
Ya back in the mass of bitches, I'm givin yea ear infections//
From punchlines, without havin to hit ya//
Man I'm ill, I'm even badder than sickness//
You'd have to take a chainsaw to my gash just to rip this//
I got my gear in drive, y'all the passenger witness//
Rap Superstar was classic, my rhymes are complex//
You thinkin it was ill? That's just the simplest//
Maybe ya wallet should go and pay my album a visit//
Attractin attention, but never battlin bitches//
Cuz then they cryin like children, hopin for my demise//
But that's just another item, to add to ya wishlist//
Hook 8x
[Verse 2]
Can I have your attention In The Club for a minute?//
How'd that man go from a thug to a misses?//
He used to be ill, with a slug in his dimple//
But he changed it up to get love from you people//
Ya not tryin to see me, gear it down//
Verizon Wireless mic, you can hear me now//
I'll steer this clowns, in the way of the circus//
I'm spittin on ya mic, bitch, breakin the circuit//
Ya fake and a worthless person, realize//
That the game is diverseless, imperfect service//
I'll spit a punch 'til it hurts ya nerve end//
I'm cuttin with verbals worse than surgeons//
Burstin herds of words when I'm backed to battle//
Why am I even tryin? Ya raps are babble//
Not speakin one word more than you have to//
You're a fruit with bananas in ya adam's apple//
Hook 8x
[Verse 3]
The game is a pool of talent, ya drownin fast//
Ya album is not droppin, only thing that's droppin//
Is the powdered sand out ya hour glass//
Ya doubt the facts, I got class A skill//
To vaccinate ya raps 'til ya ass ain't ill//
It happens to every rapper, I'm wagin war//
Against the rule 'til nature gonna take its course//
Gracin stores, amazin, I'm blazin more//
Wax than stoners and fiends, smokin candles//
Want some? Come and get it, it's a open battle//
Fruits is ripped on the mic like a broken apple//
Hopes is scattered, folks boast, get choked and battered//
Clothes is tattered, open casket, so dramatic//
No one's habits, are as heavy as mine//
And don't nobody give a fuck if you ready to shine//
Spittin the pettiest lines, you better be ready for steady decline//
Hook 8x
