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Jurassick Harlem
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Spittin mad punches
hiphop rap battles freestyles disses
Hot audios, some real inspirational raps on here, also some stuff you can dance to, some battles and also some freestyles. If you lookin for a diverse page, you
Welcome to Blazin World. Turn ya speakers up and open ya heart and soul..
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Hip Hop General
Charts
Peak #4,351
Peak in subgenre #2,199
Author
Blazin
Uploaded
August 23, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.9 MB • 128 kbps • 3:12
Lyrics
I can see ya whole team wrong/ Cuz they say they protect ya ass so I call 'em tha see through thongs// Let's not lie in this brotha/ Cuz you'll neva reach tha top like seekin tha highest number// I don't see why you try ta run this/ Its like racin a paraplegic wit one limb// Duck these clips? please believe me/ When I say you ain't duck~in~shit like birds in feces// I heat beats, drop jaws, and pop tops/ Ya bullets barely sting I guess you just pop tarts// I stop all this crisis I'm fryin/ And make ya girl drop draws like artist retirement// I'm hard wit these lines I spit/ I shoot hollows in 3 points on some triangle shit// Try facin tha kid, ya can't/ I have ta say you got a better chance// Of rapin a bitch while she still in her pants/ And she strapped wit a gat, baretta and mag// Plus she attacks wit packs like huntin cats/ While she dump them caps in ya front from ya back// So its betta you leave/ Or ya heart monitor look like tha soundwaves on a muted TV// I'm usin these beats and its workin/ Cuz I stop ya pain suddenly like Jack Kevorkian// [Pause] [Verse 2] I make a meal of ya ribs/ Feel ya pain cuz I dine on sores like Jurrassic Periods// Hear my spits, but stay calm/ Cuz I'm not denyin arms when I talk about "nay palm"// I flame squads ya crew'll burn/ And these dudes'll learn how ta use an urn// Screw a turn, I jump in line/ Cuz its been my time since I learned ta run this mic// Cops hate me I can feel it holmes/ Especially tha ones that get squeamish near funeral homes// My heat known for jaw blastin/ Cuz my slugs don't wanna stop like tha peak of an orgasm// I can tell ya'll new wit a pistol/ So you G's catchin L's like George Lucas' initials// I got punchlines ta son guys/ If I dump 9's ya son dies, you'll wanna cry// Cuz I take out ya whole family/ Wit more blades at they face than fans in tha heat// That's all my tracks be, full of flames/ You get signed to tha Roc and not pull a Dame// Ya'll dudes is lame, screw a train/ When we get our hands on ya girl, we settin up a subway// It doesn't take a thug ta clap heat/ A man throws more hands than a clock factory// So these G's are hurtin/ Wit a tax/attacks direct like payin government in person// I spit punches when I lay raps/ All ya'll do is front wit mac's like BK ads// You on pills, that I see/ I thot you was addicted ta caffeine tha way you cough e// I must adopt more birds than people/ How you keep hearin me wit deserted eagles// When I beat, don't worry about ya girl none/ Cuz I give her plenty hot dogs for her buns//
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