[trap.]

vs Booga

You had some success in the past, but this’ll be different duke,
Shit, you named yourself BOOGA and still no-one’s pickin you/
Booga brought an arsenal of swords, a couple gats and a knife,
I showed up with a kleenex, and this nigga ran for his life/
A starving immigrant, at least you’re not some fat fuck with a beard,
Although it’s sad when half of the world’s wax comes from your ears/
Were they dipped in ooze? Dogg, they’ve grown tenfold,
Connected two speakers with a fishing rod just to have headphones/
Even before getting smashed with a fist you were a sad lookin bitch,
Eardrums? Naah, you prolly have a whole marching band in that shit/
The parents you musta had to end up lookin like THAT, dogg,
Ya mom a fiend of the crackrock, your dad the Toys R Us mascot/
Giraffe looking faggot, facing me in text isn’t safe,
Your neck acts as a crane for your wreckin ball face/
Tried your hand in acting, had plans of scorin it big,
“Sorry, you’re overqualified as an elf to star in the Lord of the Rings”/
The ears caused depression, that bullshit’s embarassin,
Booga didn’t eat for years. Aloe looked like the hulk in comparison/
You child troll, this will cost you a high toll,
I’ve battled tougher snot when I was like 5 old with a mild cold/
I’m battling a nigga with ears that surpass industrial size,
It’s Elian Gonzalez who apparently does his tanning in an oven sometimes/
You’re the type of little bitch that I kick in the head,
What you DON’T see in that pic, is Michael Jackson luring him into bed/
You underestimated me greatly, made a bad assumption,
Now I’m running circles around your lapse of judgment/
This ain’t cool, he’s got outsiders tryin to break rules,
Helping him find that picture of Kerry Kittles from grade school/
For food you would lick cock. Plus your writing is shit, TOPS,
Trust me, just follow Sprint’s lead and let the pen drop/
Old t-shirt, dirty face, holes in your shoes,
Grant Hill’s ankle wouldn’t be caught rolling with you/
It’s over you’re through. I aint astronaut Cobalt or a no-showing Angel,
Parent’s can’t afford a new bed, good thing he hasn’t outgrown his cradle/
We all know you’re not comin to America on a lift or a craft,
So I hope your dreams stay afloat cuz I’m sinkin your raft/


vs Rudge1/Diss Kabob

Resin has an adams apple? Naah, that’s a misconception,
It’s clear those are Fracture’s balls that haven’t been digested/
That’s why I’m leavin him dead soon,
Trying to be Fracture2, endin up MC Not Even A Flesh Wound/
With no room to run, all bruised and numb,
I’m know I’m facin DK, I just wanted to diss the dude that won/
Nice style Rooodge,
You drop a quick phrase for line 1, and a sentence longer than most haikus
for line 2/
Dope structure, BUT CALL ME ALLAN GREENSPAN!!
Cuz I’ll empty the reserve, give ya ass a look that’s cold then ZING! BAM!!/
Your wit has some soft spots,
So go back to square one like trippin in hopscotch/
I got photos of Prodigy, Redman, even Ja Rule with his click,
Holla if you got a tourney soon, these are pics that YOU can submit/
I’ll go to Chicago and battle this weak bitch,
Only thing you topping…is my pizza when I order a deep dish/
Nice tattoo of a butterfly, that’s as hard as it gets,
But why you look like a black koopa from the Mario flick?/
Do you smell what I’m cookin? I ain’t the Rock but damn…
…I just saw your nostrils and well, it seems as if you prolly can/
You’re gay. You wear berets and your dome’s lookin greasy,
All you need is a jail sentence and we got our own Adebisi/
Resin merked you. Even Sime knew your ass shoulda lost,
He counted Resin’s votes on one hand, while the other was jackin you off/
You ain’t from Chicago, start gettin real whore,
You got a city background so fake most late shows would kill for/
Rudge is a bitch, I knew from the get-go,
Only DK holding barrels has his own game on the Super Nintendo/
Named after a Nicole Kidman musical. His raps are all gutter,
Rudge’s first single is Eyes Wide Shut off his album “The Others”/
Fucka I’ll destroy your raps,
Only hot wax you drop…is over your boyfriend’s ass/
So start writing your ode to the afterlife,
Shut that trial talk up,
Only case number you got, is the code for your samsonite/
“Sup Ruudge.” “Hey Ry, I hope this won’t trouble you,
But please spell my name like my chances, no double u.”
Imma win it this year, it’s been a breeze to can ya,
There’s only Faith in Rouge when Bad Boy performs in Louisiana/


vs Phant (MM)

Seems like yesterday I slayed you, consider this day two,
Face burnt the fuck up from all the sonnin I gave you/
Please tell rosy cheeks to only speak when told to,
Go home duke,
Ry shot-callin like the muthafuckin sniper in Phone Booth/
You’re wack hopps. Face too red in that snap shot,
Already the Cinci baseball team offered Phant a job as their mascot/
A verse full of hick disses is what I could be sending Sime,
But who the FUCK writes an entire verse with the same disses every line?/
40 lines dissing apes, 30 against pedophiles. That all you can think to say?
If I was chinese, he’d submit a 50 line epic on why Yao Ming is gay/
Hopefully this verse will make Ceasar Phant disappear,
Tough matchup: my branch of followers vs the olive branch in his ear/
Phant and his boyfriend will be in love til the very end,
And like Phoenix sportswriters, they’re talkin ‘bout Marion/
I’m a fan of boxing, which helps when I’m exposin his text,
Cuz everyone knows Phantom punches aren’t known to connect/
Stick to text, it’s obvious you’re too shook to fight,
Bitch, I battled DK, you only sparred with a lookalike/
You aint even diss MMx. Before your face gets all blushy,
Tell me why your “diss verse” was more like a paper on monkeys/
As the illest you rarely get mentioned,
Don’t even dare me to question why you took that pic during a therapy session/
Looks like you digitally added that weirdo couch,
While actually being on the shitter, trying your best to squeeze one out/
Fuck all that. You look like you’re 31,
P’s such a tool, Black And Decker is sponsoring his tourney run/
I forgot what site we’re on. I doubt I’ll show yo,
How the fuck can I win, his face is the Prowlers logo/
Sime, the prizes are dumb hopps,
If Phant wins, please switch Soul’s CD for a bottle of sun block/
P LOVES freaks. There are shrinks that I suggest that he visit,
One minute he’s got a Muresan avvy, the next he’s posing next to a midget/
Since you stepped up, it’s time I bruise your frame,
Your doom is promised like pre-ordering the computer game/