The Clockwork Orgy.
 

I can't think of anything that rhymes with orange. It's giving me a hard time time. Clockwork Orgy.

This is direct connotation. Or is it? I’ll resurrect Thomas Paine when, he wrote Common Sense. Who’s the best on vocation? Home-schooled but on vacation. I’m old-school. I’m Sinatra’s face. Frankly, you're not the same. Couldn’t erect a pretense that I’m creating, through the unrealness to allocate this. Look in-between the correlation, I’ll skeet on your mommas face. Indeed the sea of semen in blotchy places. You could see I plopped it on a certain locked location. If you connect the dots, you’ll allot a constellation. I went Ursa Major on her Canis Minora. We consummated. You couldn't shapeshift to save your life, I'm on euphoria. I need a consultation. Distressed. While orchestrating; a gang of wolves to eat you, while playing, Mozart's Requiem D-minor. On rotation. The lithiums' got me off-the-wall. A quick sketch compilation. You couldn’t predict my awkward state. By awkward state, I mean I’m on the fence insane when, I hop the gates to California. I’m off to Vegas. If I cock a waitress, does the AIDs I fucked her vague with, condensed to stay in Vegas? That's awfully vagina of you. & this is Survival of the Fisting. I’ve mutated, from hobbit case, to robotic rapist. Godzilla with finesse of God’s creation. Crowd thriller, count syllables. It's the Cloverfield monster had sex with Walter Payton. This is intense confrontation. You couldn't have intent to stop this pace with, double-edge-tipped oscillating, drill-pressed lava plagued-drip automation. This events' a provocation of all six-senses from M. Night Shyamalan, - if he innately thought to say. Salam Alaikum. Met Mahatmas in the Bahamas and made fun of his name, @BWHAHA arranged it. I'm Ghandi teaching Dhalsim the kick-leg thin-stretch pressing six-X combination. I’m an indexed incarnation of having sick sex, molestation. I have a sick sense of masturbation. Forget my occupation. Just nominate me. I’ll inject Obama, facing, six counts of incarceration. I insist on the operation. Select to embalm. It’s suspense in my palm. When I read it, it tells me to disconnect you from across the nation. Infect biologic rations. It's cross-checked. Some say I'm like Satan, with a pure touch. Imagine the Lochness in a velour tux, causing riots from an ionizing basin. The type of concoction phasing that causes primary caustic flaming. I love reading binary naked. If you translate the 00100001001's to sex 101, you'd see the vagina's flanking while the penis try escaping. Traumatic inhale. Oxidation. The next segment. Godly Mason, and truly I'm the Illuminati w/o the Illumi-. Illuminating, with an intent on motivating. I invent and procreate, the most incestuous postulate. I split eggs, like ovulation. Get your sig checked, if it doesnt have darth in large quotations, you're not amazing. So much suspense, you ought’ to say, you couldn’t suspect an ounce of what my chakra sprays. Let’s commence to walk away. I’m a split-end, on the hair of Samson, & It’s Darth today. I'm VERY handsome , and its fully sunk-in, that this Hulk is hunky. I'm immense. And on occasion, when I rhyme, I emblazon. X’s and Xross-terrain. They call me the ironic machine. Have sex in your Jeep 4x4 with a chick whose lies' are- she's sixteen. On my porch I’m laden. To a mortal state. Where more than often I create a mortar slate. An apex. Distraught equations. Steven Hawkings pacing; breathing: "it's p-h not v" I'm sorry Pheven. on his wheelchair buzzing his buzzer. I'm content just rollerblading. (he’s jealous that I have smaller wheels, but faster.) More revolutions on rotation. Killing my mistress, gripping chainsaws, like goodbyeeee, I’m crazy.

@CopyPat I added a bit. Can you see the difference? You should've posted yours.

Haha great title. Yes obviously I can see tons of little differences and additions.

This is epic. Epically awesome. Will most likely be a votm from me. We'll see how the second half of Oct goes though... Can anyone top it!?

This was impressive the flow was on point
enjoy the paragraph format you had going on
I feel you could have stopped before the last lines
but I guess that's the flare to it. lot of dope references
nice drop

The Oval Office Bonaparte, oats bitch, go snitch - cold of heart. bloated, fold your cards, don't slip, cloning art, pulpit rolling tar. cul de sac cattle grazing, more nevers than a rattled Raven, this is saddle raping. placid laking, battle-brazen, sour tasting mouth of Satan. dickheaded? bet that shit. kids get it! strep that shit!(impressive) wet flashes when flaccid yet passionate pile of shit. callous-kissed Havlicek acid trip hieroglyph. there it happened! so you can jot it down n bottle drown your errors casted but I can paragraph it till there is no merit after: Corazon of an oso on patron w/the coco and limòn, so hermoso, a cabron yes contodo yo, no mentiroso bro.

Inject Obama the bud, tab, or person?

10/10

A twisted and tightly wound ball of string.

wow wow WOW. There was stuff and things in here I liked, but I will continue to read to see how well this connects. You write nice

This was the best thing I've read by you. At first, the -attion rhymes threw me off because it's so simple. Then they kept coming. Then they kept coming more. I agree with whoever said the end was a little weaker. But I think that's the product of changing the rhyme after such a long run with one.

I liked how you stayed on topic, too. That made it difficult to turn this into a collaboration. I'm not as interesting a person as you. Maybe I could have written about you? That seems weird.

Nice work.

Very dope, well done yoda

You couldn’t predict my awkward state. By awkward state, I mean I’m on the fence insane when, I hop the gates to California. I’m off to Vegas. If I cock a waitress, does the AIDs I fucked her vague with, condensed to stay in Vegas?


I'm Ghandi teaching Dhalsim the kick-leg thin-stretch pressing six-X combination. I’m an indexed incarnation of having sick sex, molestation. I have a sick sense of masturbation. Forget my occupation. Just nominate me. I’ll inject Obama, facing, six counts of incarceration. I insist on the operation. Select to embalm. It’s suspense in my palm. When I read it, it tells me to disconnect you from across the nation. Infect biologic rations. It's cross-checked. Some say I'm like Satan, with a pure touch. Imagine the Lochness in a velour tux, causing riots from an ionizing basin. The type of concoction phasing that causes primary caustic flaming. I love reading binary naked.




They call me the ironic machine. Have sex in your Jeep 4x4 with a chick whose lies' are- she's sixteen. On my porch I’m laden. To a mortal state. Where more than often I create a mortar slate. An apex. Distraught equations. Steven Hawkings pacing; breathing: "it's p-h not v" I'm sorry Pheven.




dope shit, my fav parts.

You said my name but didn't @ me.

LOL loved the Sinatra line

read this in the crew forum just yesterday, started writing a follow-up verse to it after reading Copy hadn't done his but now i see you've posted yours here anyway

good shit, brosef!

THanks everyone I appreciate it! I'll return feed

am i allowed to not like this? because i didn't.

No, you're not actually.

fuck. i will sit in the corner nursing a watery scotch like a scabby mammary gland. sorry.

Why don't you like it?

yeah let me bump my thread with me answering back to you. why dont you like it

i think it was because of the part... with the words, y'know.