Beef Rapp

Beef rap, could lead to getting teeth capped Or even a wreath for ma dukes on some grief crap I suggest you change your diet It can lead to high blood pressure if you fry it Or even a stroke, heart attack, heart disease It ain't no starting back once arteries start to squeeze Take the easy way out phony, until then They know they wouldn't be talking that baloney in the bullpen So disgusting, pardon self as I discuss this They talk a wealth of shit and they ain't never seen the justice Bust this, like a cold milk from out the toilet Two batteries some Brillo and some foil, he'a boil it He be better off on PC glued And it's a feud so don't be in no TV mood Every week it's mystery meat, seaweed stewed (Food, we need food!) He wears a mask just to cover the raw flesh A rather ugly brother with flows that's gorgeous Drop dead joints hit the whips like bird shit They need it like a hole in they head or a third tit Her bra smell, his card say: aw hell Barred from all bars and kicked out the Carvel Keep a cooker where the jar fell And keep a cheap hooker that's off the hook like Ma Bell Top bleeding, maybe fella took the loaded rod gears Stop feeding babies colored sugar-coated lard squares The odd pair swears and God fears Even when it's rotten, we've gotten through the hard years I wrote this note around New Year's Off a couple a shots and a few beers, but who cares? Enough about me, it's about the beats Not about the streets and who food he about to eat A rhyming cannibal who's dressed to kill and cynical Whether is it animal, vegetable, or mineral It's a miracle how he get so lyrical And proceed to move the crowd like a old Negro spiritual For a mil' do a commercial for Mello Yello Tell 'em devil's hell no, sell y'all own Jello We hollow krills, she swallow pills He follow flea collar three dollar bills And squeal for halal veal, 80-dollar pill Dig the real, it's how the big ballers deal Twirl a L after every meal (food!) What up? To all rappers: shut up with your shutting up And keep your shirt on, at least a button-up Yuck, is they rhymers or strippin' males? Out of work jerks since they shut down Chippendales They chippin' nails, DOOM, tippin' scales Let alone the pre-orders that's counted off shippin' sales This one goes out to all my peoples skippin' bail Dippin' jail, whippin' tail, and sippin' ale Light the doobie 'till it glow like a ruby After which they couldn't find the Villain like Scooby He's in the lab on some old Buddha Monk shit Overproof drunk shit, and who would'a thunk it? Punk, try and ask why ours be better Could be the iron mask or the Cosby sweater Yes, you, who's screwed by the dude on the CD, nude (we need food!)