Definition of a rap flow.
I’ll give it a stab.Get them all mad when I shit on a track
’cause I’m an ignorant asshole.
Middle finger as big as my fat nose.
I’m killing the mass more than who’s shipping tobacco.
Writtens will stack so
each syllable’s amo.
I’m sicking the whack ’cause I’m sick and a whacko.
You’re like sixty, you’re mad old.
I’m sixteen, but when I’m spitting women tell the kiddies that dad’s home.
Some of these spitters be spitting this syllabic shit that I’m spitting this minute but when they be spitting it isn’t descriptive.
Never saying shit in the lyric, they just spit it to spit it.
It’s simple. That’s why you ain’t big and not that close.
I ain’t tipping my hat bro.
You’re sweat as licking up lactose without the milk in the glass.
You miserable ass, your shit isn’t that dope.
You mimic my tracks so I’m killing you cats like dinner for japs, woah.
You’re a stick on the grass.
You used to be getting big in the past
but you slipped and collapsed
and it’s impossible to whiteness a stick on the grass grow.
That metaphor was too quick to get that “oh!”.
But I get it right back,
while you sit on your ass on twitter to have posts like
“I’m so underrated but I’m killing my raps so
dope you can it hit it and pass yo!”
You’re old fans are kissing my ass bro.
I saw them and grabbed them with my lyrical lasso.
And now I got a clique, what clique do you have? Nope!
You’re out numbered like Mitt to Barack votes.
Your intelect mad slow, I’m thinking it fast.
Give me the pass.
I’m bringing the lyrical back,
killing for Mass.
Think of a track,
scribble it quick in a pad.
It’s an attack.
‘Finna be mad
big in the map.
You’re ‘finna be living in shacks
I’m ‘finna be living in castles.
Who’s spitting this rad yo?
That’s how to get straight like the shit was an afro.
I told myself I would change the sceme but I got so many rhymes, my mind is an infinite capsule.
A riveting, limitless, diligent, intricate, disciplined, militant, sickening, venomous, instrument finishing inequivalent, mimicking, innocent, primitive, feminine, hypocrite, simpleton citizens. This kid is the last hope.
‘Cause rap’s looking like an idiot’s bad joke.
So it’s my duty to hit the tip of the flagpole
while simultaneously getting you to trip through the trap door.
So step up your game or quit ’cause can’t flow.