Mind Distortion

CopyPat · 07-06-2015, 12:38 AM

Fire stokin, hot to scorch. My rhymes are molten lava form. Lines are golden, top the board. Your style is low on awesome.. snore. Supply is slow for proper molded rhymes, your flow’s on life support. My style’s a whole concoction sorta vile and mostly rotten. Hoards of grimy old forgotten corpses winding through my haunted verses. I’m blinding through your optic cortex. Climb into your logic, snort a line and do a mind distortion. I’m flying through with flying colors. Your rhymes are too confined, conformist. My style is huge, a wide performance. Your style is cute and tiny, Novice… I Supply the booth with surprise anomalies and spit violent loops of rhyme atrocities. The tiger tooth bite philosophy like lions do with high ferocity. CAUSE RAPPERS GET ATE. Dined and chewed like fine gastronomy, when I handle this plate you guys are food and I’m the jaw that feeds. Word to my momma, I’m outta my lima bean. You don’t wanna see what this honkey mean, get some gonorrhea. And a nauseous feeling, catch the hottest fever. Catch an honest beating when you tangle with the boss of lyrics. Drop repulsive music, I’m a compulsive human. And I’m compelled to send to hell all of you shoddy losers. The fuckin shotty shooter. The fuckin party pooper. You duckin cars, my Ruger bust apart consumers. Put a damper on your mood like if you watchin news clips. And then you watch my uz clips. And then I watch the ooze drip. The fuckin boss of cool shit. Fuck Bronson music. The only one with action is the CopyPoo biissssssshhhh

07-06-2015, 12:38 AM	#1
CopyPat Mic Check Join Date: Mar 2013 Location: Calgary Alberta Canada Posts: 708 Battle Record: 13-10 Rep Power: 3742225	Mind Distortion Fire stokin, hot to scorch. My rhymes are molten lava form. Lines are golden, top the board. Your style is low on awesome.. snore. Supply is slow for proper molded rhymes, your flow’s on life support. My style’s a whole concoction sorta vile and mostly rotten. Hoards of grimy old forgotten corpses winding through my haunted verses. I’m blinding through your optic cortex. Climb into your logic, snort a line and do a mind distortion. I’m flying through with flying colors. Your rhymes are too confined, conformist. My style is huge, a wide performance. Your style is cute and tiny, Novice… I Supply the booth with surprise anomalies and spit violent loops of rhyme atrocities. The tiger tooth bite philosophy like lions do with high ferocity. CAUSE RAPPERS GET ATE. Dined and chewed like fine gastronomy, when I handle this plate you guys are food and I’m the jaw that feeds. Word to my momma, I’m outta my lima bean. You don’t wanna see what this honkey mean, get some gonorrhea. And a nauseous feeling, catch the hottest fever. Catch an honest beating when you tangle with the boss of lyrics. Drop repulsive music, I’m a compulsive human. And I’m compelled to send to hell all of you shoddy losers. The fuckin shotty shooter. The fuckin party pooper. You duckin cars, my Ruger bust apart consumers. Put a damper on your mood like if you watchin news clips. And then you watch my uz clips. And then I watch the ooze drip. The fuckin boss of cool shit. Fuck Bronson music. The only one with action is the CopyPoo biissssssshhhh __________________ My syllable count approximately a billion, bounce. You cannot compete. Last edited by CopyPat; 10-15-2015 at 11:14 PM.