[trap.]

Battle: Blind Fury vs Mister E
Round: 2
Winner: Blind Fury
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Blind Fury

I have mad respect for you Mister E, and I am fully responsible for my actions to come.
But check this tho........

My verbal sniper aim, will ripe ya game, until its sour,
while ya lyrical gat be jamming ever since Nas gave you power.
Falsely installed style of buck wildness, is childish,
your battle rhymes remain incompetent while mines contain prowess.
Cramp your typing style, left ya hands arthritic,
I'm dangerous to tournaments like sugar is to a diabetic.
No anesthetic, Blind Fury the legend of mythology,
disable Mister E's mind frame through methods of psychology.
My philosophy, is too extreme for you to comprehend,
Arial view status, claiming we on the same plane I watch as you descend.
Unable to contend, my words bend, Four 90° angular,
to box cut your mid section, holes left rectangular.
Black Friday, FUCK the stock market instead I CRASH your dome,
Norton's Crash Guard couldn't protect ya in the battle zone.
Dipped your bruised carcass in the town septic tank,
Make you drink, the fluids, I'm classified as insanity on the brink.
Blind be off the hedges, venomous vengeance unleashed upon prey,
pompous fagots I castrate all day, hang them in hotel hallways.
Slice, Precise, with a jagged-edged Device,
Professionally Furious while you remain novice.
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Mister E

Nice first round Fury...but...hey...enough small talk

Bring ya Family, like Puffy, cuz you got about as much skill/I catch wreck n' get like
your moms, naked; that's ill/your mind frame and time frame are still/like a photograph, I
laugh and move in for the kill/cuz I'm full motion, like cinemetronic escapades/hard to
top or get over, kinda like the everglades/ever laid/the mic to your lady twice in one
hour?/I have, once in your bed and again the shower/devour the wack little KID like in a
FURY/ohmigosh, your moms callin, get your pants on, hurry/cuz while you earnin' your
Hip Hop kneepads polishin steel/I'm gonna shove my mic down your throat, now KEEP
THAT SHIT REAL/leave you chokin, your face is lookin sorta teal/you on death row now,
and that mic's your last meal/you asked for steak but I said I got no beef/you'll get what
I give and you get no relief/from indigestion cause by phatass rhyme spurts/kinda like
when your man tapped your ass, it hurts/but just for a moment and then it's all over/your
days as lucky as a six-six-six sided clover/that's 18 sides, one for each year since my
birth/if this was gangland, I'm takin' over your turf/18 different styles for sides and for
years/18 different deaths, and not one without fear/so pick your fate and destiny, you
need to just accept it/you're in over your head, I'm not quite what you expected/and my
wack sensors have detected/and Unidentified Failing Object in my path/it's gettin
Furious, Kid; gimme the mic, feel my wrath...


MiSTeR E <--> BtS KiDZ n' CODE