THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[Pakistani Hand Cannon]

smfh...digusting

rhyme like you got a borderline bitch disorder
its getting awkward, my shits an art form
your shits is awful, switch tha form up
brought tha rawness you caught in awe of
distort ya physics cause it is what you thought is isnt
dont get caught up slipping 'less you tryna come up missing
fuck was you thinking? all intellectuals come in peace?
cover all axis, handle heat, rugged just that deep
& please think twice when tryna do a dead nigga justice
get a blade thru ya neck, letchya head get adjusted, blaah

Edit - @ tha nigga below - hardly a 'diss', but you keep on reminiscing of the "old NCz"...riiight

[Split]

lol @ dude 10,000 thinking this is the diss cypher. reminds me of old NCs

[Mr. J]

Tripping off ecstasy... literally off ecstasy
sittin next to Yeezy tryna handle my liquor
like...I'm the man in the picture..
guilty as framed you are gonna kill me again
ima laugh to death you done did it again
what...what.....

[Advocate]

But what if the world was laughin at you?
Just for doin whatchu had to
Rent always paid past due
Safe to say I be mad too
And it's safe to say I'm in a safer state
Wit plastic forks and paper plates
And if they don't past the torch, imma take they place
And crash their porsche and erase their trace
Cuz I gotta have it like a crack addict, I'm back at it
Dudes tryna stunt like they acrobatic, I've bout had it
Got em cleanin up they act like a quick spill
The kid is equipt to spit wit the sick skill
Makin me constipated make the shyt’s real..
I’ll look Cash Money in the face, and tell em “Big Deal?”
Then they'll have to escort me outta they office
Just cuz I tol em they industry on some soft shyt.
I'm exhausted.

[oats]

Stop this, off-switch, bounce till your bras rip
Everybody knows I'm a motherfuckin boss, kid
Oats is the god, yes the poster of flawless
Hold for applause, here's a rope for your solace
Y'all know shit is locked, the GOAT, it's unanimous
Flow is extravagant, better hope that you're not hit
I'm just a glutton for knowledge, trudging through logic
Like every other motherfuckin stuck-up agnostic

[Mr. J]

You could find me somewhere exotic chillin' with koalas
sippin' odwalla, while y'all is trippin' off that white powder
wowsers...I got inspector gadgets to get indepth & dam it
they want me to get in depth &..damn it, a step towards tragic
a step towards investing in the money, friend requests &...
basically what your girl gets...the full package
like I need to clean up my verses, let these fools pack it
cuz I'm movin' but not if you steppin' to me, get it faggot
cuz I know you like your bitch, so you'll like when this dick'll slap ya

[Advocate]

Switch chapters
Blitz quick, then you'll flip backwards
Killin this shyt like a box a ritz crackers
In search of weakness
The weakest just ain't a secret
The way that I see it, it's just the prefix to my thesis
Just bein upfront, so please don’t front
I was up front on the last lap, now they grunt when I stunt
They bytch back on my lap wit her aunt
But both wanna suck me up, but first I asked, “Whatchu want?”
Common courtesy
By now you should a heard a me
Shyttin bricks on any enemy wit a tendency...most certainly
I been raw before John Cena had even seen raw
Thru all my ups and down you'd prolly see me if you sea-saw
But if you seen Saw, I could prolly make that shyt seem soft then
At any cost
And still swingin on em like Kenny Lofton

[Eŋg]

The pen a problem from the Ox,
Benny Blanco from the Bronx,
Remember me!? You met me once,
Then it stopped. Forget-me-nots at the restaurant
where you resting on a coffin. You got kin,
No you HAD them: the glock spins
Now it's past tense. Say you got skills?
You just average, no you not ill,
That's just fabric
-ated. Pull your skirt down,
Man ya'll fascinated by some rappers gay tricks,
And it's not ok just cuz that bastard made it,
Mad rappers basic, mumbling, masticating,
just wrap a statement in kevlar plastic casing,
act abrasive then add a splash of cadence
and cats'll swear by the fact that craft's amazing.
What the fuck did I just actually say... shit.

[Fig]

I stay lit till laying wasted on pavement
then wake up n aim quick nines at niggas to stage licks.
Claim cliques. Bang clips. Leaving bodies in cases
with family laid adjacent that prolly' made it to Satan.
Thats real killa, aint a fashionable statement,
No ones in fear because that side of us grew brashly complacent.
I aint a bastard bent on reppin the struggle till I can make it
Just a coffin dweller bringing in light that never has faced shit.

[Vulgar]

throwaway poems:



World of jars

A glass vivisectory portabella matrix dry cottonseed
Blood mixed in catalina human DNA recovering from
Ice cube dinner template, Aztec Lego-land azurian audit

Megaphone templar’s extreme low frequency mannerisms
For staircase ascensions, reflect hickory-gold, silver threads
fibonacci in flax wind like reeds at the end of a sky dock’s bangs

Refrigerator generator venerating provided by the all preserving
Eye, try the Heimlich on a pregnant incubation bloke, might
Feel better, without titanium tonsils, atom bomb forever grid

Debunked lung sponge left private equity army collagen
Collectors without hives to piss a pot in, curmudgeon so lofty
in thanking you for lacing the mind’s Easter basket

With the essentials: hem locked water hovel, slack jawed tunnel
To the terminal of no rebuke, government body wearing
Peanut butter tunic and selling “What If?” Free Mars party favors

And matching towels, only in burgundy - true element bondsmen
Congregate, they hold pomegranates inside out so seedy
Ventricles may be seen syringed, as prime minister of megalithic

smithed carrion turbine called civilization gathers enough
Points to make the next gut-fletching epoch, all with the same
Compassion of a dead poet’s resume being orated by Norman Clature
classified as scathing commentary program




“This is my man time.”

Entering the manhood matrix
Where relationship diaphragms can’t gain access
And friend zones are off limits
(exhibit A… disregard for the opposite rolodex)

Supreme immersion in a sensation vs. personal space
Long awaited match up, seen under a feng shui gyroscope
Such is the way g-spots communicate
their inner-most desires, and desalination processes

I start my sentences with “so” so the active disinterest
In polygon relationship motion physics won’t create the image
Of a desperate denizen - and she gave opinions on the denim
Who’s taking advantage of who and who’s partaking in frantics

You see, this wad of spinach suggests a strong girth
Your stubborn armor suggests father problems
But time is our common sibling, Sibyl… and I’m just waiting
For your clock’s hand to strike at the moment of attraction

So I can ease into your vulva database
Respectfully leave my log-in info there stored
(Trojans will rush in through an available wormhole,
Whether it’s me or not)
This is Sparta. This is pleasure’s motif on an inverted timescale.

[Frank]

Wtf was that??? You bugging??? You coming wack , sit the fuck down and just relax, your stuff is trash. You look frail but try to make your voice tough and black? Let me chill, might as well diss the website , bunch of knucking crabs

[Split]

it's a matter of memory capturing. grey matter resaturates.
the battery has to fade. oxidizing the caustic to non-electronic state,
the cost to exonerate sparks that fly we brought our dawns to dusky haze.
can you end it? set it straight? scene setting: Boston in its perfect state. occupied.
turn these curtains to a cape and linoleum to a stage. will you hold me holy if I walk away?
inaugurated God, decreed him lost and impeached him in the greenest monster's shade.

[CopyPat]

Kids is braggin they’re dope I’m in their actual nose
My international flows have been around like the globe
I'm fingerbangin these hoes I'm in their vaginal holes
I single-handedly choked ya little faggoty throats

[Dove Dozer]

I'm multie spittin sultry writtens
kickin these fuckin kittens
so fuck you battle rap cats,
cause when I bust I glisten

[Illume]

I maybe new to this, put effort tryina just prove some shit,
I'm amused that I'm so stupid to think these niggas are good at this!
I've considered suicide, I listened to music: some movin' shit,
Seein' this rap thread just give me desire to go though with it .....

[Void]

Identity crisis. I remember me typing. 15, like I'd invented this rhyme shit.
16, on some, 'This is getting me signed!' shit. Before I'd heard Infinite or Eminem... 9 6'.
The internet's high-tech and Biggie ain't die yet.

[Advocate]

While Suge Knight was on a diet
Hollin "Death Row", tryna make a "Bad Boy" quiet
Coast to coast, niggas thinkin they flyer than a pilot
But when the planes crash, it was silence
Broken down like a science
At my finest even though I'm lackin guidance
In search within my self, knowin very well I couldn't find it
But fucc it, besides imma keep makin ruckus
Keep gettin buckets while I'm fightin for my justice
Poeticly
Said to be freedom was sold seperately
Maybe next time I should think a bout that...instead of me?

[Split]

Put a circus of bitches to bed, in acidic prometheal soup. I sense they'll be dead when they surface, since the broth'll be de-condensed adrenal vermouth. Felt I was bred to dunk in their lysergic juice. No blotters. Actually* innocent dude.. caught sifting your daughters blood in through the gaps in the dozenth set of biscupids I've produced. AWKWARD. Grinning absently, satisfied, but I wasn't laughing with you. Pauper. Worms, bastards and vermin. Acts that I've... Accidentally fathomed on purpose. Act like you knew, since... the depth of my murderous passion is revived by my oddly passive, gaggle of goggling observers. A bad appleseed, idolized. Simon says happily, sigh in this cyanide. Cop a backseat, serial stunts flourish like flax seed. Dearly de-parted, dear he deserved it. Rap sheets unfurl, feels like it was, practically six months past I was barely a mystery to murder. Drip-drop, dribbly splashes, on the hip-hop canvas. Your grandmother's berber. Now I sit atop rags, so my throne don't get brimstone scratches on it's sapphire set-surface. But, shit happens.

[Void]

I've sat at this desk a dozen times or more trying to summon rhymes. It's forced. So unamused. Nothing to prove. Just punching a dying horse. But I keep sitting here. Scripting weird nuggets of my discourse. Mourning my death. Pretend it's a musical. Attending my funeral with orchids of red. Metaphors I've said before. My creative side's so personified and I'm so bored I'm impressed. Search for truth and answers. Never question what they'll mean. I made the chains visible and can't remember that I'm free. Hate existence, which is ironic when you're made for living.

[CopyPat]

major sickness, ate some chickens, not the soup, you can taste the Liptons when i bop ya tooth. cause i caved ya lip in when i sock it to ya. what's it to ya pussy breath? cat got ya tongue when i took these threads. so pack up ya stuff, ya books etc...cause the game on lock when i came on top, i padlocked it up.... ya shook? expected.