lyrics
Feat. Mo
Verse 1
Knock Knock, your boy knocked the door of the hinges
The flow’s so vicious, comatose four ninjas,
Injures four shoguns, nunchuks spun till the last foe is thrown in
Caskets open, till the last foe is thrown in
It’s Ronin, honin’, in our zone, and
The omen: some horsemen shoutin’ out my slogan
Zone is Machida’s, you playin’ Hulk Hogan?
Purple plum pulp, while my circle bump gums
Translatin’ what I did to an awestruck Joe Rogan
…your boy gettin’ open
broke and numb from smoke and Puerto Rican rum
leave ‘em choked done, from quotes colder than mortician’s thumbs
born from a vision bred livin’ in slums
my force is a core splittin’ sum
the innermost ring of vicious distant sun
Verse 2
Stop, drop, shut ‘em down this ain’t button down rap
Scrapyard flag wavin’, rudeboy sound clash
…East Indian Maaga man.
Armor on, I salvaged from places where the havoc plays
get fed a knuckle sandwich, have a taste
same recipe Bernard made to serve Kelly Pavlik’s face
last bastard from a rabid race
Acid faced and lackin’ the pastors faith
unlocked language and cracked the master’s safe
Heir ascendent, I’m takin’ your starter’s place
ace…(cheese)Chee’s hard to grate
your boy barged the gates
bars charred, embers flicker when I start another slaughter touring
surf sound waves, hang ten, my slang tends to water board ‘em
approach is a vocal chokehold, the dope flow is Kalari
brother be cautious, I’m locked on the Octagon
won’t opt to calm till I drop heads or atleast pop an arm
Verse 3
Mo
Aint no debate to say this
Chee Malabar the greatest
Writer you ever heard,
MO just plain outrageous.
My flow phenomenal. Should be on honor roll.
Address you lames like envelopes in thoughts that I chronicle.
I got the body blow flow, punchlines and entire body chokeholds, metaphors that break boards in karate dojos
Think you hot? Nobody know though. While my name ring bells like Quasimoto.
Your peeps dont make a peep up on the beat. We beast ready to eat, we wolves ready to creep, you sheep.
We use you as material for the next IMI tee, thus ya team get treated like fleece.
Embarrasing. In comparison to the top levels of the Sheraton, son you sweet/suite.
ME?
Call me the most furious, unruliest, rappers get called out like Juliet.
To honor this, anonymous, hip hop novelist, trying to keep my head above water like hippopatmous.
Roam through ya metropolis like please stop this shit.
All you muthafuckas sound the same, you homonyms.
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