[trap.]

vs KHz

Hello Hairball, I'm Phant, the man that's gonna attack ya, queer/
While youre 'hopin for another no-show' like Aloe's acting career/
I'm smashin my peers, cause disasters when I rip ya lines clean/
As I crush KHz—the master of the sickest rhyme scheme...

Gear shift

Chose a name that was hard to diss---hopin to get the weakest verses/
Then sent ya pic to sime---uhh, that kinda defeats the purpose/
I'll beat this worthless...faggot, look at the camera you pale dick suck/
You seem preoccupied....where you at? A male strip club???/
I'll nail THIS scrub, but maybe it aint the direction of the men/
Cuz I'd look away too if THAT was the reflection in the lens/
My weapon is my pen, I rip skaters, dog this'll be your last fight/
Ice on you wrist? Only cuz of the failed attempt on the half-pipe/
My rap's tight, my pen-bleeds whenever I'm ownin Schwinn geeks/
This hairy herb's gotta be the only fuckin ten-seed with a ten-speed/
You're in-deed...a skater, get ya ass outta this rap forum/
Cuz the only 'board you're nice on' has 4 wheels and foot platform/
And look at that corny hair! Well really, you're a lucky jerk/
Cancer will never attack you---it'd just be too much fuckin work/
I fuck wit herbs...while you probably still live in ya dad's apartment/
You look like Kurt Cobain--just more drugged up and half retarded/
So grab ya hardest...guitar and put on the tight jeans nearest/
I'll start to smell an ass-whippin, you'll start to smell teen spirit/
The queen queer gets...pissed off and says hip hop's his rightful art/
Tells chicks he's in a band...conveniently forgetting the high school part/
You might embark to the city, but no ghetto, take off ya skirt, ya clown/
Cuz the 'only time you're in a hood' is when ya wear that shirt around/
Got no connection to rap, no interest when hip hop topics are said/
Well, you DO have some black roots, they're just on top of your head...


vs iON/Galv

You aint hard child moslester, youre a geek and that’s what P says/
You DO lay low in tinted jeeps…with ya pants down…watchin recess/
On top of regress, its round 3, step up and I'll shit on ya, G/
We'll separate the men from the boys, but dont worry, not literally/
Old man, youll lose ya dentures when my insults bruise and injure/
I put my foot up kids’ asses---you typically use ya fingers/
And to get chicks, Ion never needs a local bar or brandy/
Pick-up lines? Nah, he just stocks his whole car with candy/
Ya far from manly dog, bangin six kids aint just a slight crime/
Whys ya pic background all white? Did ya erase the police height lines?/
You bite rhymes…and young necks, settle down and control ya grinnin/
Turned the R Kelly porn off cuz you aint into older women/
And compare our ranks, OK Ill stop braggin and turn it down/
And ‘put the seeds behind me’---like parents when youre around/
Ill floor this clown, aint a calm scene when I bomb this prom queen/
Ill put my bum on your lips, now kiss my ass you Tom Green/
Your soft scheme is wack, ya parents passed down some rotten genes/
And the Carolina hat? Must be a walk-on…..for the soccer team/
Ill rock your screen, beat ya country club ass til ya crippled, Opie/
The only time you ‘tear the club up’ is after a triple bogey/
Your screwface-is….nasty, a girl wouldn’t touch you, dude, face it/
Yea I see ya eyes—Only means you got blue balls in 2 places/
And its 2 cases of wack pics, I pound kids weaker with the couplets/
Narrow-ass face, your silhouette looks like Beaker’s from the Muppets/
In speakers I bring the ruckus, and I know what I wrote was mean/
But my potent scheme will ‘shine against ion’ like proton beams/
Galv you cant duke with P, but battlin stick figures is new to me/
Galvatron tip the scales? This kid don’t even add gratuity/
Youre foolish G, a fragile punk whose quite an odd soldier/
You aint got broad shoulders, you got A broad’s shoulders/
So hit the weight room sticky boy, you need to from ya looks, fag/
A puny backpackin faggot who needs a spotter for his bookbag/
So look fag, with my wits applied Im just now hittin stride/
I just gave ya an “L”, put it in front of ya name and get some pride…


vs MMx

Last MM this ape beat me, dickrode, so Ill start my next solution/
Show I ‘improved on this poster’ like him in charts for evolution/
My darts cause red contusions, but I know ya ill with rap scriptures/
MUST be sick at text if ya can get this far with THAT picture/
A crack sniffer, but we can hang out, grab girls and kick some game/
I’ll buy 99 Bananas, whoa settle down ape…that’s the liquor’s name/
My sicker flames rip your brain cuz X, this brotha’s just iller/
You look like a cross between a gorilla and a…well, another gorilla/
Been wantin to kill ya, but I really don’t desire ape killings/
I climb in beds to get my girl, you climb Empire State buildings/
And you say the queerest text shit and you should fear this next diss/
Looks like ya brain is tryin to escape…and ya nose is the nearest exit/
Kid, Im feared and wreckless, think ya tough but beatin ya chest’s corny/
Its impressive when apes do sign language, this one’s in a text tourney!!!/
X, youll get torn and disarmed, please Sime, sound the horn or alarm/
He looks like a retired boxer—a retired boxer born with no arms/
Now Ive warned of the harm…but yo, your shnozz is a huge disgrace/
All-State nose tackle in high school---Dude only used his face/
Youll lose this race Mr. Putrid face, a flash and a casted shout/
Hopped in a whip to pop ya pic, then the owner snatched you out/
Kid, ya gassed about…ya car, at speedbumps it don’t get to the top/
I turn my car key and it goes “VROOM!”, yours goes “HAHAHAHA!”/
A Mongoloid from the Flintstones era, Fred would even dust this clown/
I bet that car has no floor, powered by your feet touchin the ground/
Ya fuckin around, but not with girls cuz chicks would never kiss you/
Blew ya nose and boogers were in ya tissue--I mean Booga was in ya tissue/
I aint wastin a rap, when facin this cat I get straight to the fact/
You probably drive lookin away often—that’s why ya face is like that/
So now you should be enraged after you read my frequent rage/
Cuz guys, I ‘jump around on X’ like Milo at a European rave/
So stay in ya freakin cage, ya wonder why girlfriends cheat on you/
Youre so nasty that when you beat off, your HAND falls asleep on you/
And remember when ya said ya spit on stage and the scene was buggin?/
Cuz ya only got a clap or two, but the crickets seemed to love it!!!!!/
Crowd screamed to “shove it!”, ya bailed so heads wouldnt hear ya/
You teared up, now ya shake whenever youre near a stage like Shakira/
X, nobody fears ya, so please turn back with this conclusion…/
Sure, I could ‘son native’, but youre the definition of ‘backwards evolution’


vs Rygar (MM)

Hey guys, watch this shit, Im gonna ruin his name meanly/
Show ‘its easy to beat Rygar’ like my text had game genie/
Ya lame, sweetie...Soloe met ya and said ya scared to get high/
Haha! You a ‘nerdy mother-fucker’ like Finch from American Pie/
Soloe sweared on his life, said he asked if ya wanted a bunch-a-hits/
Tried once, but ‘couldn’t handle the pot’ like chefs missin oven mitts/
Dude, youre a fuckin bitch, try to make friends but lack the tactics/
Heard Ry hangs with Himself--but I aint talkin bout the fatass black kid/
You live on the net and ya ugly, a kid as fucked up as you is rare/
While I'm ‘hot with two dimples’ like ya custioned computer chair/
Yo, this dude’s a square, hits me up like “Phant, you my friend.”/
Man, can ya tell me your best friends’ names without loggin onto IM?/
You get dogged by my pen, bet ya social life’s off the hook, elf/
What leaves that room more often; you or that big-ass bookshelf?/
And I wish I could see ya clothes, I bet you got some stankin kicks/
Ry be ‘rockin Vans’ more than Shaggy when he’s bangin chicks/
But YOU be bangin dicks, and that gay ass is dead bananas/
Said Id show ya a blood-bath--looked for naked thugs in red bandanas/
Asked about audios at Mentalz, I remember your response clearly/
“I cant rap too loud yall...cuz my parents might hear me!”/
Had my eyes teary, ya parents own you, no wonder ya never drank/
This muhfucker like 21 and probably still be getting spanked/
And now to ya face, those weird eyes make ya look like a little fool/
Ya ‘pupils are further apart’ than pen-pals from Middle School/
I'll rip this tool, stomp on his grill until it wont heal right/
Lookin like a punchin bag, maybe you DO say ‘nigga’ in real life/
Ya ‘Excellent Adventure’ is over and I don’t know who I dissed worse/
Cuz I pounded Bill the second round and ended Keanu with this verse/
You know you look like Reeves, maybe YOU can be a movie screen buff/
Cuz I KNOW youre a better actor, cuz at Prowlers you really seem tough/
You fuckin cream puff, head long and awkward, skull is a sin/
And nobody’s pullin ya leg, but someone must be pullin ya chin/
My punches ya fear, when I approach you run for the clear/
And ‘run for your dear life’ like Bambi when hunters are near/
Get hundreds of cheers in L.A. cuz ya movies would cause a geek hoard/
As lead role in the nerd blockbuster; ‘Dude, Where’s My Keyboard?”/
So text is fun cuz computers and free time are a potent combination/
Plus ya ‘own enough mouse-pads’ to house New York’s rodent population/
And turn that camera left, they’ll be no fragment of doubt/
When we see Jay-Z tied in ropes with a gag in his mouth/
You're the fag of the house, Punchline King? I'll belittle that/
Cuz it’s a simple fact, your ‘punches are played’ like Little Mac’s/
And to end this rap, I'll prove that gay audio wasn’t false and ya know.../
You call yourself Alfred Dolphin cuz ya always got balls on ya nose...