Death To Wackness

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Been into this rap thing for 20 years now, listening and studying more than practicing. At 25 years old, I'm finally making moves. Yeah, it's long over due, but it is all in due time. Listening to my songs and checking out my page, people may get the idea that J Malice is a monster or sicko; couldn't be further from the truth. J Malice has a heart and is willing to bet any amount of wealth that it's bigger than anyone who chooses to come through here. Don't judge a book by it's cover. You have to open the pages and read inside if you really want to know about someone.

Song Info

Genre

Hip-Hop • Hip Hop General

Uploaded

December 28, 2005

Track Files

MP3

MP3 1.8 MB • 128 kbps • 2:00

Lyrics

Crack your head open when I grandslam ya/
done sniffed you out of hiding like Tony Montana/
caught you slipping like peels of bananas, feel the damage/
when I split the grills of these kids who fulfill the answer/
to questions pertaining who's the wackest of all/
they avoid the mirror that only shows wack rappers on the wall/
but my rap attack is on and I blast for the cause/
on any punk ass bastard trying to stand on my balls/
I never roam around without alert in the plot/
metaphors to make ya head hurt and turn till it pops/
I'm sicker than burning a cross/
slice your throat faster than Dorothy forgetting her ruby slipper and returning to Oz/
merking and stalking, hurting, no flaws/
ya body curls like toes in your fall like a fag jerking you off/ 
nervous or not, ya'll get on my nerves alot/
so as a mercenary, I feel it's my purpose to drop/
when I'm spittin my sh*t, the wild ensues ya/
miles of bruises like I done child-abused ya/
fingernail filer to grooves until your spine is useless/
sever your family ties just like they didn't mind the music/
ya'll couldn't see me with glasses from God's workshop/
lyrical range makes you wonder when will all the hurt stop/
when my circuits get hot, the circus will not/
last, Death To Wackness, you maggots ain't deserving a shot/
I'll murder your thoughts of ever being great/
and every line I set off is preparing me a plate/
staring straight into your eyes to scare ya straight/
but by the next bar, I'm dropping flowers near your grave/
and the family looks on in disgust and disgrace/
bu their little one should have known not to phukk with this place/
my rhymes will have you stuck in a maze, ducking for days/
that's just the tip of the iceburg for corrupting my space/
one line from me is like ten shots to the dome/
now you can't be a muthaphukkin pops when ya grown/
my bars are sharp enough to slice the deepest marks in the stone/
and tomorrow, I'm sending your pine box to ya home/

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