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The Landlord
Join Date: Jan 2013
Posts: 5,822
Battle Record: 12-10
Rep Power: 10493983 ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
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posted on 8/13/01
BuddhaDome *Yeah, I made the title like that on purpose* :smokin Infinite bars First to 3 votes wins Due by August 20 Blah-blah-blah I wasn't gonna embarrass ya here on BlackinQ Yeah, I did drop hot bombs on hip-hop.com, but that was a wack link We could've left that in the past, but no you asked to get dissed By the master of this who always drops disasterous shit To paint a lyrical murder scene of this motif So have it your way, but not like Burger King 'cause there's no beef But like Mc Donald's, you must love to see me smile to try to challenge me I guess I'm (appallin/a pollen) 'cause I got ya eyes waterin' like alergies A savage beast and I smell a feast Like John Bobbet, you'll never bust again 'cause you should've held ya (piece/peace) Now you gettin' jinxed I'm hittin' ya with everything but my kitchen sink But take this bathroom sink and brush ya teeth 'cause what ya spittin' stinks Pull out all ya notebooks and rhymes in written ink But to say you're half a man, you're half (lyin'/lion) like an Egyption sphinx But you ain't the king of this or the Pharaoh Conkrete 'Cause you couldn't put it down hard if you were ferroconcrete You just a concrete statue after this battle leaves ya frozen stiff like Medusa; I'm an ambrosian myth you shouldn't start commotion with Equal ratio of roastin' spliffs to roastin' emcees I flow deep to drown ya ass like oceans and seas And you merely a creek Weary and weak from tryin' to figure out my eerie mystique And in this battle, you fear the critique 'Cause you wouldn't be half of what I am if we were Siamese twins And couldn't eat a cat in a chinese den Your shit is soft in my ear like cotton swabs and in the words of the cops who arrested Bobby Brown, "Houston, we got a problem!" 'Cause I'm at a higher level, I practically space travel But you at the rock bottom, so I'm sure you can actually taste gravel That's why ya name's Conkrete , you make "tracks" that get trampled on You drop wack lyrics more often than P. Diddy samples songs Your shit's like chicks with sandles on, so corny I can't see (da' feet/defeat) But I kick it dirty from the bottom of my (soul/sole) on emcees I beat Brutally; what could you possibly do to me as far as lyrics go? Yeah, you could try to respond but I ain't tryin' to hear it though I "bust" well-rounded like bitches in wonder bras You tight , but there's a lot of ass in you like J-Lo's underdraws You fuckin' with a pot addict I won the first battle, but like a trigga happy mobster, you had to take another shot at it Now that my bars shot ya down again, you at the bars downin' shots in agony; so wave the flag to me till ya start soundin' hot BuddhaDome; blunted and bent 100% vs Tha Conkrete Emcee Yo, I kick back relaxin’ as if my rhymes were valiums Buddha tries to bring me down, I’m attackin’ him with claws of adamantium *shink* berserker style – killin’ him aint even a challenge, then I devour his torso and mail his parents the other half of him Shkilz, your lakin’ ‘em, the only way you’d ever go platinum Is if you slurped P. Diddy’s semen then took it in the back from him- Crossin’ over to the dark side like Anakin Skywalker Conkrete produces more cuts than the fuckin’ Night Stalker Whoops, looks like Buddah just got played again Sittin’ home alone while I’m fillin’ entire stadiums You aint even got the cranium capacity to qualify as homosapien While I’m hyper-evolved: fuck it, Conkrete Tha Super Sayan So KAMEHAMEHYA – I hitcha harder than bitches get hit by pimps after they find a wad a cash hidden under their kitchen sink So Budda, you holdin’ out on me? You gotta be Cuz so far your skill is harder to see than the private parts on a flea You started to believe this would be a good match Ya thought you could advance, but got burned like a wooden lamp I took off to the front of the pack, leavin’ your whole hood in last Bystanders shakin’ their heads like “poor kid…he never stood a chance” Now you’ve learned your lesson: never come to me stressin’ I already matched your skill on the mic when I said “1-2-3 testing” This is a spaghetti western, and I’m Clint Eastwood packin’ tha Six-shooter, blastin’ ya backwards through a break-away banister Shit, this aint a battle, it’s a massacre, cuz you’re just an amateur who couldn’t get paid at a club if they hired you as the janitor Livin’ in the city of rigorous standards, the only way you could capture my style’s with a digital video camera you should abandon this battle, you got no course of action It looks like when God rationed passion, you got left with just a fraction Shit, even if you slurped P. Diddy’s semen, you’ll still never go platinum Even if I wrote you some dope leerix, you’d still sound wack when you spat ‘em! Cuz your lackin’ tha kind of miraculous vernacular ya find Packed into the back of my mind- Shit, this is like the Cadillac of rhymes, I don’t even need a dope-ass chorus But your wack ass couldn’t fill a club even if Eminem opened for ya... "Til the apocolypse I'ma be rockin' shit constant like a broken faucet drips...in a state of altered consciousness, watchin' this world pass me by while I stand with a glass bowl, sparkin' it..."-Conkrete |
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