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fp.com battle track
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triple threat battle tween ChaneReactioN, Soul-ja an Messiah, high poet was in, too lazy to re record
chanereaction
Lyricism, rap, hip hop, ChaneReactioN
Hey, its ChaneReactioN, formerly known as CrAcKa-JaCk, have fun wit da music
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop New School
Charts
Peak #2,079
Peak in subgenre #180
Author
ChaneReactioN
Rights
Ownage inc.
Uploaded
August 07, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 1.9 MB 128 kbps 0:00
Story behind the song
battle track, audio, juss messin round
Lyrics
INTRO::Future producers.com, triple threat, actually battle royale....chanereaction, soul-ja, high poet and my boy messiah. droppin fiya, gettin higha then the twin towers, o wait, they fell down, never mind...::INTRO I incite fights every night to ignite a crowd, Even if you recorded em n upped the volume, still couldnt get loud, Messiah, actin pround, like hes here to save the race, An so does soul-ja, you should know ya place, Should be replaced to Iraq where the camel spiders dwell, And it's pretty sad when our "messiah" is goin to hell, I'm not one to tell and kiss, but you guys are when you post wit kissy lips, lickin each others dicks, like a crowd of lesbians eatin clits, Back to the camels, when messiah spits, It sounds like a pissed off brit who missed tea n crumpets, Soul-ja, I mean D, must stand for diss, cuz he showed Sing up wit a track made of piss, And high poet, you aint got shit against me, except im fat, white, and im a wacktastic emcee, Look at me, Im memphis, Cuz im the only Ten-I-see, You couldnt possibly be better than me, not even if you were me plus plus and sprinkled in tak and phatastic, then youd be the fantastic plastic rapper goin platnium, But get at em, cuz we all got our own music to make, producin hits, lets not mistake, the fact that bein black holds nothin at stake, I aint fake, just cuz im the white rapper from PA, Hey, you 2 bitches - just like the rest of the bunch, You 2 couldnt see my taste if i was cinnamon toast crunch, eat emcees like you for lunch, snack on ya flows, Like I was unda ya girlfriend on her period, ya know, On the mic, an indian yo, lyrically throw punches like tomahawks and shootin arrows, You all chirp like sparrows, need to be hit wit a shotgun, And the funny thing is I dont own a gun, say this shit for fun, But when you see me on ya block, ya better run, Get ya guns, its arright, cuz i bring a knife to a gun fight, One slash full of strife cut ya lights off with a slash of the blade, But hey Imma cut this track off, cuz beatin up punks is way overplayed.
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