Battle: ~JUGGA~ vs Deacon
Round: 5
Winner: ~JUGGA~
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~JUGGA~
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~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ again emerges victorious over Elitists claiming Mind over
matter...the next opponent claims divinity...however ThA JuGGaNauT never
has been the one to believe in false Gods...
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"SACRELIGION"
I said you couldn't drive-"ride shotgun"-I had to chew ya ass out
Sliding on my double barrel fuckin' yaself-I had to shoot ya ass out
Blew ya ass out-if you're the Deacon-~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s the Anti-Christ!
Up in ya panties like I'm fuckin' you-rinse the blood with handi-wipes
Ya fam be like, "Damn he's trife!"-ya gull be like "And he's tight!"
I can't be sliced-you'll be slammed tonight if you don't pack ya Samsonite
Kryptonite don't work jerk-I sunbathe in radiation spikes
You going down faster than ValueJet aviation flights
ThA JuGGaNauT fuck you up like college graduation night
You couldn't cum phat at Weight Watcher's masturbation rites
Since ya type style is garbage-we should keep a lid on it
You flat like Jada Pinkett-Smith drinkin' soda with no fizz on it
Scalp ya dome...now you gonna need a wig on it
If you expect Life After your Death-you better hope B.I.G.'s on it
Excerpts from your best works still suck like they wet nursed
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s the expert who puts emcees in the dirt-you can get hurt
On network television-live studio audience tapings
Despite this raping-you couldn't see me-if we were dating
Stop hating-I'm more violent than the source for Jerry Springer ratings
Stating the obvious-'you can't penetrate my adamantium casing'
I feel like I'm facing "Ass munch!"-to quote from Butthead and Beavis
My genius is enough to split your chest in half like cleavage
Needless to say-~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ can't be touched-like red hot surfaces
My purpose is to bludgeon you till your life signs blink like my cursor is
And service kids-what you need to do is reevaluate
Cuz I amalgamate-skills and urge to kill when I assassinate
Imagine weights tied to ya legs-imagine you
Fried like an egg I'm draggin' the Deacon by the edge
Body baggin' you toe taggin' you then dumpin' ya broke
Anatomy-I hope you choke on that lump in ya throat
To battle me isn't wise at all-you don't have the size at all
I'll crush you down to pellets found in capsuled Tylenol
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~'s inclined to brawl-you're inclined to call emergency
If you were the only waitress at my favorite resturant...
There'd still be no servin' me-open head surgery should certainly
Cure that wack disease when ThA JuGGaNauT purposely
Removes ya brain tissue-and don't expect no back-up
Cuz my gat bust on all those-lame kids who-came with you
~JÛGGÅ(tm)~ maim kids who-challenge insubordinate
Locate coordinates-lay ya down-then even give ya corpse a kick....
ThA YeaR oF ThA JuGGaNauT....
On to the Finalz.....
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Deacon
:::: Deacon steps into the room, casually taking a sip from his Kiwi Strawberry Mistic.... he glances around the oddly lit room until his eyes find his next challenger... JUGGA.. he finds him and calmly walks over until he's face to face with him and smoothly starts letting the words poetically float off his tongue:::
I pray that your soul is saved, because I don't enjoy sending MCs to eternal damnation//
I heard ya specialization isn't grippin mics it's grippin dicks for masturbation//
So you'll have more time to manually stimulate yourself after I oust you from this tourney//
'cause even if I doused myself in gasoline and put a wick on my head you couldn't burn me//
My flows leave you exposed like George Michael in public restrooms//
driving you crazy, leave you straightjacketed and locked in a padded room//
Even if you were uncontested you still couldn't win//
12 years old with a curfew, night-light, and bedtime, momz still tuckin you in//
I'll leave you fried like Chicken in Kentucky or rice in woks, fart knocker//
Leave ya head spinning like CD-ROM drives or helicopter choppers//
You are like water systems in third world countries, no flow//
Mainly because your flow sucks like fellatio//
I'm like a Gracie, bro, my style's similar to jiu-jitsu, I'm able//
To force you to tap out, submission holds make you fold up like card tables//
I'll leave you WITH your WIND GONE like William Clark Gable//
Friendless like Jim Carey in that movie about THE GUY that installs CABLE//
Get rocked to sleep like I'm your babysitter, you gotta be a crazy niggah//
To fuck the Deacon, the Louisville Slug-type hitter, that'll roll upon you like a CRITTER//
Have you swallowing my shit like you got a brown shower fetish//
So salad dress my rectum and toss it like that dish made from leafy greens, raw vegetables and lettuce//
Put you in positions you couldn't get out of even if you was mcgyver//
you'll go from jacking up niggaz in cyphers to jackin ya dick in cybers//
you wouldn't be Live if you were on LARRY KING's show on CNN, tonight//
while playing that NBA game by EA SPORTS via satellite//
the only way you could back up your shit talking, brova//
is if you owned a speaking turd and walked backwards with that mothafucka//
battling you's like fist fighting an arm amputee//
me to you is like a Giant Sequoia to a cherry tree//
your victory is about as likely as a falling cat landing on its back//
cause even if you were an ordained minister possessed by the Holy Spirit, you still couldn't bless a track//
I'm other wise known as Godzilla, stomp on you like you're Japanese//
Deacon the rap veterinarian, certified to get rid of you flee MCs//
I'll drive you to a state of manic depression//
You'll develop split personalities as a result of memory suppression//
I would have thought by now that you woulda learned ya lesson//
I'll leave ya asshole like the barrel of a freshly fired smif n wessun:::BURNIN::://
because I'm a sick bastard//
The National Weather Service watching me for naturally causing disasters//
I'll have ya ass stumbling like I dun drugged ya//
Thinking you're JUICED like BISHOP, I'll unplug ya//
:::: JUGGA's fried corpse is speedily carried out of the dimly lit room by a team of paramedics and Deacon proceeds to calmly stroll over to enjoy the next battle:::
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