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Ajax: Is this longbar?
mudfoot VS MC Unique
Before the first fro grew...your style was old school, and died looooong before Slick Rick had stopped rockin' GOLD Jewells/
There's a surplus of trash you used in your rap, I'm on "lyrical death row"?...how stupid is that/
battle yourself and STILL people wouldn't bet on you bro, that's no disrespect to you...I'm just lettin' you know/
that Foot's a time bomb already set to explode, through your monitor and leave y'ass dead in your home/
you know I'll spit a bar to have your hoe sheddin' her clothes, she said you're not a man and sex would be better alone/
next time...before you challenge Foot develop a flow, to match Kid Rock you've got a few levels to go/
you'll never spit a verse that can have me "mentally raped", you're barely average...your style was never meant to be great/
you're flimsy and fake...I'll beat you til your fibulas break, and spit a verse to cause your lungs to permanently deflate/
continue to lace...your cranium with splinters and stakes, littered with aches and rendered in an invilid state/
I don't understand what's happenin' here, YOU challenged M-U-D Foot to battle but your weapon cabinet's bare/
I'll read your verse to you and laugh in your ear...I'll laugh at ya peers, your pac net buddies d*ck stabbin' your rear/
this amateur's scared...too much pain and anguish in here, strangled to where he'll leave the board and vanish in fear/
when you enter Foot's zone you'll get choked, your neck grabbed and your larynx stabbed with every bone in your throat/
you challenged Foot with THAT...you must've been stoned when you wrote, somebody told me you're dope...whew!!! It's only a hoax/
STILL CALLIN' YOUR STEEZ PHAT?, it's terrible to lie to yourself even worse when you start to believe that/
don't take it as a dis...it's just honestly feedback, Beat Foot?...gotta be more than unique to achieve that/
I'll drop a bar to mesmerize you...then mechanize to, a form to mutilate your frame til YOU don't even recognize you/
it's ill advised to...peep my rhymes...the sh*t'll blind you, thrust ya eyes back into ya skull and out the sides duke/
you're weak...f*ck wit Foot and get massacred paw, you're just UNIQUE 'cause no one WANTS to be as wack as you are/
you asked for the war...so now you'll get mangled and scarred, hacked into parts...and packed in the back of ya car/
for actin' so hard...alas you're an actual fraud, when you spit...you strain to get your own hands to applaud/
you challenged me but yet you knew that you were trash from the start, and were going up aganst someone who's mastered his art/
well...there's clearly no debate, that I could even beat you in a battle if I spit a verse made from words that don't relate/
you won't escape...you couldn't get a hot rhyme to culminate, or simply keep up with me if I severely slowed my pace/
and throw the race...your rhymes make you impossible to overrate, in war with Foot...death is always the opposing soldier's fate/
listen...I got a joke to make...even Unique hold his face, HOW DO YOU GET AN A&R TO LAUGH...Answer: SHOW HIM YOUR TAPE/
your audio's soft...not for battlin'...more like when you go on a date, that's the sh*t I listen to when I'm straight bonin' your mate/
I'll shatter ya jaw...when you challenge Wrath you need more, than merely references of my past battles with Saw/
What's he steppin' to the Foot with such arrogance for, ask yourselves...IS THERE REALLY A COMPARISON?...NAHHHH
Mudfoot VS Cadence
You damn right...you have a serious mountain to climb, and when the Mud slides your corpse'll be found in the grime/
each line is better than your verse by thousands of times, and what's worse is that the Foot has a boundless supply/
n*ggaz always wan approach the Foot fiendin' to test, yet leave wit they flesh...contorted to a meaningless mess/
STOP seekin' Foot Doc before I beat in your chest, to where your heart no longer pumps and your breathing's suppressed/
all the compliments you give are only seen as a jest, beat somebody else's d*ck and give my penis a rest/
you aint got no business tryin' to...mess wit the Foot, it's a cryin' shame that you were so impressed wit the Foot/
that you would try to STEAL the flow and concepts from the Foot, you might as well entitle your rhyme the "Best of the Foot"/
or the "Best of the Wrath"...the sight of Foot'll have you messin' your pants, and have you choke YOUR OWN neck with your hands/
Foot's the kind of cat to give your girl a sexual glance, and have her instantly volunteer her breasts and her ass/
Foot is known to transform into a ravenous fiend, that'll infiltrate your mind and inhabit your dreams/
and gain access to all of your plans and your schemes, and trap your state of mind under Foot's savage regime/
if YOU ruled the world...who knows how wack it would be, cats would rock Cross Colors shirts and Damage for jeans/
you STOLE a proven flow...how hard is that to acheive, you were wack way before the first rap was conceived/
you were wack before Genesis...when Adam and Eve, disobeyed God and ate from his magical tree/
to test Foot in your amateur state, is like puttin' steel and feathers on a scale and tryin to balance the weight/
keep in mind...Foot'll make you bleed gallons and lakes, if not for yours...quit for your friends and family's sake/
'cause you know the Foot's heart is filled with malice and hate, and a wicked death is the opposing challenger's fate/
you can't produce a hot rhyme...you're just a talentless fake, a blood SUCKA...that's why I'm armed with wooden mallots and stakes/
in this modern day Egypt...Foot's the Pharoah or Sheik, that gotta watch his back livin' in a palace of snakes/
you're the kind of man to take another man on a date, and can't wait to get him home and toss his salad and cake/
wit whipped cream, bannanas and grapes, and even lick the balls and when he don't call...you walk around sad in the face/
you need to understand...I flow at a maddening pace, you can't claim a win...when you never ran in the race/
you want the whole thing but can't even handle a taste, back to the drawing board...or whatever they call the practicing place/
whether you wanna be Mud...or just prefer to pretend, YOU'RE NOT FOOT...you're like the low budget version of him/
I'll spit merciless gems...in the sky that disperse in the wind, and drop upon the earth and murder your kin/
you can USE the Foot's style...but can't shoulder the wealth, that's like havin' a giants frame and the soul of an elf/
for you to STEAL from Mudfoot is very bold of yourself, if your rhyme wasn't so trash I'd think I wrote it myself/
when you TAKE from Mudfoot you take a blow to your health, I'll skin your frame and turn your hide into an oderous pelt/
before he knew what happened...the decisive blow had been dealt, and in the end it was still the Foot that voters had felt/
Mudfoot vs. vs Broken English
When Broken peeped the scene and saw the Guanja Guy emergin', all that crossed his mind was that he's gonna die a virgin/
Feet's the kind of person...that'll beat your hide with verses, til you seek to hide in church and hope you reach in time for service/
you're similar to Foot?...more like a weak and tired version, that force your sh*t to make a word like beeper rhyme with nursing/
The first cat I ever heard to speak of Broken English, said the name means "wack as f*ck" in French and "JOKE" in English/
he said that you was full of steam like loco-motive engines, and type your verses with the same hand you stroke your thing with/
you didn't KNOW I'd win this?, use your BRAIN b*tch...it's not some kind of decoration...it's what you're supposed to think with/
each line'll wreck your syntax...til each Plague of Impact, realize his frame was blown apart and begs for limbs back/
and speakin' of ya "crew"...they should'a let you know your sh*t's wack, they played your song then fought to be the one who presses "skip track"/
Ill masterminded...the most melodic plan to bind the hands of time, so that your screen'll freeze, crash and die when I craft a rhyme/
you faggot swine...in drag you dine...and offer your man a glass of wine, then home you bend his asshole wide and splash his hide with astroglide/
I can't believe this clown?...speakin' how he could beat me down, but when the Feet hit town...the n*gga didn't make a peep or sound/
and when his man was scared to death and cried...he told him "keep it down, FEET'S AROUND...why the f*ck you always have to be so loud?"/
this freak's about...walkin' streets for miles in a sequin gown, and stuffin' d*cks inside the orifice where his teeth are found/
he likes it how the balls tease his bowels...til he screams and shouts, then hits the streets again...feelin' proud how he pleased the crowd/
when Foot spit...he always show and prove...from his vocal tubes, and have the older dudes scoldin' you...and scream "I tolded you"/
"THAT FOOT WOULD HAVE YA CHEEKS AND NOSE ABUSED...SNAP YA BONES IN TWO, AND BEAT YOUR FRAME UNTIL YOUR ARMS DON'T FIT INSIDE THE SHOULDER GROOVES"/
when actin' bold and rude...you only put me in the mode to do, sh*t like bangin' ya head...until you're s'posed to move your toes to chew/
and lace your corpse with open wounds so every organ's pokin' through, displayed as a reminder not to SPEAK UNLESS YOU'RE SPOKEN TO/
by Foot...that'll cross the globe to Egypt and to Portugal, and leave not just ENGLISH SMASHED...but every language Broken too/
not even if they go to you... with hundreds of grands, should you dare f*ck wit Mudfoot or one of his mans/
you should be...satisfied as just one of his fans, and sacrifice your shoes and Cross Color dungaree pants/
they should've told you that the Wrath...was a thug and a half, and could make ya role as pointless as Bustah's in Shaft/
you remember last night?...how you were f*ckin' ya dad, and how he told you that he loved you...with his butt in your hands/
and how he's jealous of your girl always touchin' your ass, and said he'd kill the b*tch if she made another advance/
speakin' of which...your rhyme was so UNDER advanced, that I fell asleep and thought I woke UP in the past/
and saw Grand Mast...before he hooked UP wit the flash, spit an UPdated verse if you're UP to the task/
beat Foot?...must be the world's biggest dummy to ask, that's the reason when you turn around there's chuckles and laughs/
not from strangers...I'm talkin' bout your mother and dad, all your neices...your baby cousins, uncles and aunts (ants)/
they know all I have to do is show you some of the Wrath, and you'll to drop this war...and claim you only wanted to dance/
it's a shame...that you would still wanna tangle wit Feet, when you know you'll only get your frame mangled and beat/
kinda kid to drop his pants and start stranglin' Pete, wit a condom on so it doesn't splash on the sheets/
you sit in front ya PC...wit ya hand on ya meat, thinkin' ways to make beatin' Foot a tangible feat/
YOU CAN'T BEAT FOOT...I doubt you'd ever handle the heat, I'm like a forest fire...tell me how a candle competes?/
you're a hoe a fag and a freak, that talk a lot of sh*t then search for the door at your first chance to retreat/
I'll turn ya frame to an explosion of red, and have the moderator hold his head and contemplate closin' the thread/
you're the kind of cat that yap about totin' his lead, but still sleeps wit go-bots and G-I Joes in his bed/
I'll have you on the ground posin' as dead, thinkin' 'bout the direction opposite of me...wishin' you chose it instead...