IN{O}vader vs Epidemic
 

01-30-2002


{O}:

I conjure humungous monsters to stomp on this dumbest bitch/
leave you to decompose, ya body rotten growin the most noxious of funguses/
releasin tremitodes to reach and roam through ya organs and eat ya bones/
when the {O} speaks you tense up and ya obliques creak and graon then snap to leave you prone/
gotta bleach ya clothes cause blood blotches ya boxers when I cut notches in ya gut paunches/
what thoughts was runnin through ya fuckin noggin to challenge the {O} come drop spits/
epidemics momma shoulda taught him not to mess with the omnipresent god of heaven/
not to mention the astronomic cosmic bombs I toss this dogs direction/

Demic:

this verse is a murderous Extroversion of werds hence the death of this nervous pen pocket protected nerd bitch/ disperse his verbal attempts at smooth flow and swallow a bottle of jergans/ drape this jerk kid over my mental window---its curtains/
i spit certain to rip the sickest version across ya minds oriface/
obsorbe its bruised tissue before it gets sore again/
remores is none when i reveal ya tuarus(bull) shit/a coughin aquarius he must-hang(mustang)/ill show him the difference between ill and 'horse' sick/ restore bliss to the boards when my intestinal cords clinch and destroy 'Flic(affliction)/ proving once and for all whos truley omnivoric/
Force this plageristic whore to get expelled quick when i release relics of painfully felt spits like they were written wit pointy brail tips/look at this frail bitch im crackin who lacks tha calcium/attack him wit extravagant weapons and leave him encrested wit death within his feelin- soft- fecal foundry men/(Philisophical)

Round 2...

{O}:

you may wonder how I jusify bustin lines so fuckin tight/
look both ways, no truck in site? then when you step into the street one drops from the sky to crush this guy/
kill you then go head to ya funeral to verify that you're lyin there alive/
fakin ya death why ya scared of I? cause I'm so ill when I breathe the air would die/
a vortex forms where my lines and yours intersect at the parabola/
didn't I tell you soldiahs that I'm so Ill I scare ebola?/
smoke weed and still make sense in a Chron-o-logical way/
takin shots at the spot where you lay, a hospital bed cause earlier I chopped off ya legs/
no more tryin to spar with this dork, go back in the past burn the cabbage patch you were born in and char broil the stork/
then go back farther and stab ya family patriarch in the heart with a fork/

Demic:

From wits sharp my tounge splits apart and skin becomes sleaker to lounge wit/
venoms make ya lungs twist a maelstrom gift of holy wounds like my punches form a covanent/
cut the tense/ from past or present my attack methods are questionable/ i got a fetish for wounds/ rippin skulls before birth my sperm could grip ya head in tha womb/ reckin u fools in random/ slam some weak MC as tantrums/Corey band of cockholdas verfiy ya manlove by refusin to unhand em/

round 3...

{O}:

this battle is a 'collection' of "single spits", 'multi' "universal"/
halt ya faulty dispersal cause ya bull shit words suck worse than cheap used car comercials/
got me so pissed that I'd quit spittin just to smack the back of ya head/
get back on track and crack it instead, then send ya family roses and lilacs when ya dead/
so you wanna fight you inbred troglodite but before you walk into my home make sure the dog don't bite/
the lines I drop "flow right", and "left ya leakin" and gone, no life/
from the hieghts of kilamonjaro to the temperate zones I'll sever ya bones/
you should be never alone cause demic has shown that he can't understand my savagery/
attack an emcee like an entire manajeri of ravenous beasts and rip em in half like cabbage leaves/


demic:

lyrics compound from start spit oxygenated rocks to sound hard/
when nouns charge its unlikely for u to turn up/get burnt up and found charred/ breath stop short like roberto alamar sayin "he wont lett us scream!" like a mortified salad bar/ count the start and watch me leave this DJ past defeat and run/ snatch the beat and tell him to scratch his feet if wants to cut some funk/
touch this chump who spits a vagistal punch like a consession sport/ or Kunta Kente's last pedicure/ i said before i leave this bastrd mauled for spittin fasiscmal catacombs/war?--like white girls in black clubs wit bladders full ill be the last to go/