Someone tell us a story about the history of txt

[sral]

Mr. Skull 7-1 vs. Creatical 4-0

Mr. Skull

here... quick key


To start off..
I've had 2 useless battles in a row, I'm still in pure fear
Last week I was Shocked, now I'm fucking electrocuted that your here.
Let's count your good punches, 'n force the dope
Because your on a one line high... like snorting coke
Your already washed up, I'll even stop your emergence
Cause your verse is a load of B.S., with lots of detergent
Your a baseball lover, look, at this fag.. he loves so many
Num knuckleballs... while this homo just rubs them gently
The sucks 'n it's true... he's a fake gangster so the fucker'll lose
the drag queens only strapped with 2 pumps when he buckles his shoes
Shit, you killin yourself 'cause the ditch you were found in
Got your passes at greatness a flag for intentional grounding
I'm raping you Cre, remodeling, your well known 'n fondled
I reconstructed your manhood, 'n built pretty pink homes 'n condos
I'm known to bomb folks.. lonely kid. this fucker should listen
The last legs, breasts, 'n theighs he touched.. were in a bucket of chicken

Creatical

I was born dope, my tip is insanely sick
Leaving you with more shit in ya’ jeans than Mr. Hanky’s kids
Ya’ fuckin’ with the devil, can ya’ dance?
I’ll leave your legs blown out like Hammer pants
You got half a chance, and you fell gravely
With ya’ brains scattered on the floor with the shell casings
With no restriction, you know I’ll win this
And you’ll be pushing out daisies like a Jahova’s witness
The title’s mine, I’m coppin’ it now
Cos ya’ body’s hidden in a trash can like Oscar the Grouch
I ain’t all there upstairs, ya’ best believe it
And when you got angry with ya’ body language, I left ya’ speechless
Fuck with me? Never, homie,
You talking ‘bout living with a bigger Boo Boo than Yogi
When I flow, b, I spit in whirlwinds
While you’re the biggest bitch next to Clifford’s girlfriend

Final Score

Creatical Wins 7-4... New Champ