Bandana-Shaped Crown

TankTank 

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Tank

A tank is an armoured fighting vehicle designed for front-line combat, with heavy firepower, strong armour, tracks and a powerful engine providing good battlefield maneuverability. The first tanks were designed to overcome the deadlock of trench warfare in the 1910s; they are a mainstay of modern ground forces and a key part of combined arms combat. Modern tanks are versatile mobile land weapon system platforms, mounting a large-calibre cannon in a rotating gun turret, supplemented by mounted machine guns or other weapons. They combine this with heavy vehicle armour which provides protection for the crew, the vehicle's weapons, and its propulsion systems, and operational mobility, due to its use of tracks rather than wheels, which allows the tank to move over… more »

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Don't sweat the threats, I unwind cassettes
Textile crown, down protects my neck
I play raucous sets
Stay cautious vets
Gold uncontrolled
Raps off Tourette's
Community abuse me like Percocets
Making you who's fronting ghost types, learn hex
Invest in this vex, best since Lego sets
Light a fuse Lumiere, be my
Tank, rolling through your front like the West
Guessed wrong, your Maginot Line failed the test
Soon to swoop in, swap the style like Avengers
Now stomping out multiversal contenders
Colder than 100 percent of winters
Analyzed in Antarctic research centers
Pick me out like splinters, sinners, spinners satisfied
Like dinner is served
Kick drums to curbs
Call competition spineless, left unnerved
My Bic-named turret tames lames in sick games
Same blame self-shame remains my mainframe
Gone Vik Vaughnatron like transaction
Put on a bandana-shaped crown, donned
Lyrics lean with the green on whack rap productions
I'm Max-o with the cream, mixing up white russians
Just in, reports of a chorus boy christened
A broke-jaw Tom Brokaw who broke off your system
Don't draft bars I enlist them
Brigham Young, start my mission
Listening, waiting for the mic-disintegrating
Midwest-state heavyweight starving like hot plate
Snot baked from the fire I spit
Mark McGwire I hit
Bops with my droplets
Unconscious, Giannis against the Western Conference
Rewind this two lines testify to congress
Lawrence Taylor, I alter an offense
Nonsense, prose Brodeur, no score goes beyond this
Fucked up like what happened to the Supersonics
On this court ink-varnished claimed four-sport dominance
Amazing on stage I plays a word mage
Enraged at no names, no pay's a wage raise
Bandstand will transform a man's reflection
Put an a bandana-shaped crown, donned
That third verse venomous, fly size generous
Circles seen them spiritant, degenerate, my inference
No real difference, on mics omnipotence
Reproducing rave reviews, fakers face impotence
Pardon my sentiments
Consequence of sentences dispensed no common sense
Prey on pages, no penitence
Incensed since no one else compares no synonyms
No spotlight, a gentleman
But when it hits, God flow
Trying not to be a rap cowboy, they all go
Rush to make the ropes, find only lassos
I pick at lines many times, mine up Picassos
My Bic-named turret tames lames in sick games
Same blame self-shame remains my mainframe
Gone Vik Vaughnatron like transaction
Put on a bandana-shaped crown, donned
Tank

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