Children Of The Corn

Drill rap, Death rap, unorthodox hip hop, experimental hip hop, cloud rap, serial killer rap, psycho rap, maniac rap, heavy bass, heavy bass distortion, mega bass, super bass, lo-fi, vaporwave, aggressive phonk, modern rap

V4.5

I ain’t scared of your crew with they nose rings clackin’,
All wearin’ Doc Martens with your phone screens crackin’.
I’m blastin’ wear a goat mask when I throat slam captains,
Stab ’em in the back with a snowman’s carrot.
I bring heat like a propane cocaine attic,
You rap like a clone of a known stray addict.
I drag your thot through a Walmart parking lot bare assed screamin’, “Damn it!” and
Make her strip for a cornflake sandwich.
You fragile, probably cry when your Uber’s late,
Your bitch croons like a flute when I lubricate.
She built like a Tuesday lunch at a super 8,
With knees that bend wrong when her uterus ache.
You can’t see me, like watchin TV through a fuzzy channel
I bust through the mic like a busted panel 
Leave you slumped in the swamp in a blood crusted flannel.
Cannibal rage, I chew through your rib cage,
Stuff your mom in a suitcase with a piss stain.
Schoolin’ fools like bullies did to you in six grade,
You’re catchin’ a quick fade like showin’ up to a gunfight with a switchblade.
I don’t rap, I euthanize sluts at the zoo,
Then spit toothpicks through their jugular root.
My nuts hang loose like your rotten tooth
slappin’ your whole crew with a bucket of ball juice.
You’re rhymes are barely understandable 
You’re fruitier than a cantaloupe mixed with Barry Manilow who can’t comprehend battle flows. I dismantle foes who can’t handle those. Gettin’ caught in my lasso rope and dragged through the land of dope.
Barely breathin’, frostbite fever.
I piss in your mouth like a moss pipe leader.
I’m that off-white creature with the frostbite features
Who stuff your dreams full of lost wife screams.
I’m the meanest, you’ll never win. I write with a deer bone pen,
Tattoo bars on severed skin in a werewolf’s den.
Witchcraft Voodoo, throw a spear right through you like I was Shaka Zulu
The rhymes you spit are straight doo doo like you chew ca-ca
Your momma looks like Chewbacca,
Wearin’ Crocs made out of skinned iguanas, screamin’ at your dad’s limp piranha.
While she deepthroats cans of quiche and lasagna,
Then queefs out dust like a witch in a sauna.
Your girl built like a mistranslated warning,
Her knees of Tweety Bird like she skipped leg day every morning.
I nut in her mouth while she’s mid mourning,
Then ghost her ass like a crib in foreclosing.
You don’t want beef, you want bland tofu,
Your breath smell like ham and a hand-old shoe.
I’ll feed your mom a pan full of baboon stew,
Then spank her ass till it’s black and blue while paintin’ her back porch with her  own sandblown puke.
I skin your face like a Fruit Roll-Up, chew through your torso chunks,
Hang your guts on a clothesline, flappin’ like war crows.
Your girl got scabs in her throat from deep-throatin’ corn poles,
She gaggin’ on nut mist, cryin’ in torn clothes.
I stomp heads like steel toes at a Blade blood rave,
Rip your tongue out, stir soup at Hell’s floodgate.
You rap like a Whole Foods vegan overdosed on bug spray,
While I carve my initials in your spine with a serrated blade.
Your bitch built like she’s got genital warts under her gym shorts,
Got hips like Björk that click like a busted limb torch.
She queefs out pus and smells like divorce,
Then begs you to bust while she snorts off a piece of raw pork.
Your mom got kicked out the morgue for flirtin’ with corpses,
Sippin’ embalming fluid, purrin’ in corsets.
She lickin’ the grout out the tile in portions,
Sayin’, “Please choke me out while P. Diddy endorses.”
I don’t battle, I whack-a-mole heads through a bass drum,
Make your chick strip for a Chef Boyardee pay stub.
You rap like a Dr. Phil post from a paste chump,
While I sever the so-called clever from the waist up.

4434/7500

Your girl built like a rickshaw dragged through a pitfall, Titties hang low like King Kong’s spitballs. Sniffin’ on a lip balm, beggin’ for a thick plot, While you at home arguin’ with your dick rot. I eat rappers like neck meat jerky, Your mom got a chest that leaks detergent. Bitch got stretch marks shaped like cursive, She wear a retainer just to slurp me on purpose. I’m a myth with a dick like a warhead, Break into your crib just to piss in your Cornbread. You get ripped like worn thread, Children Of The Corn dead Fork full of corpse meat and porno ads your whore reads. Throw your chick off a cliff in a snuggie, Face in the blood like a drugged out puppy. Tongue so crusty, smell so musty Dawson’s Creek, through your window I creep when my bloodlust hungry. I ain’t scared of your crew with they nose rings clackin’, All wearin’ Doc Martens with your phone screens crackin’. I’m blastin’ wear a goat mask when I throat slam captains, Stab ’em in the back with a snowman’s carrot. I bring heat like a propane cocaine attic, You rap like a clone of a known stray addict. I drag your thot through a Walmart parking lot bare assed screamin’, “Damn it!” and Make her strip for a cornflake sandwich. You fragile, probably cry when your Uber’s late, Your bitch croons like a flute when I lubricate. She built like a Tuesday lunch at a super 8, With knees that bend wrong when her uterus ache. You can’t see me, like watchin TV through a fuzzy channel I bust through the mic like a busted panel Leave you slumped in the swamp in a blood crusted flannel. Cannibal rage, I chew through your rib cage, Stuff your mom in a suitcase with a piss stain. Schoolin’ fools like bullies did to you in six grade, You’re catchin’ a quick fade like showin’ up to a gunfight with a switchblade. I don’t rap, I euthanize sluts at the zoo, Then spit toothpicks through their jugular root. My nuts hang loose like your rotten tooth slappin’ your whole crew with a bucket of ball juice. You’re rhymes are barely understandable You’re fruitier than a cantaloupe mixed with Barry Manilow who can’t comprehend battle flows. I dismantle foes who can’t handle those. Gettin’ caught in my lasso rope and dragged through the land of dope. Barely breathin’, frostbite fever. I piss in your mouth like a moss pipe leader. I’m that off-white creature with the frostbite features Who stuff your dreams full of lost wife screams. I’m the meanest, you’ll never win. I write with a deer bone pen, Tattoo bars on severed skin in a werewolf’s den. Witchcraft Voodoo, throw a spear right through you like I was Shaka Zulu The rhymes you spit are straight doo doo like you chew ca-ca Your momma looks like Chewbacca, Wearin’ Crocs made out of skinned iguanas, screamin’ at your dad’s limp piranha. While she deepthroats cans of quiche and lasagna, Then queefs out dust like a witch in a sauna. Your girl built like a mistranslated warning, Her knees of Tweety Bird like she skipped leg day every morning. I nut in her mouth while she’s mid mourning, Then ghost her ass like a crib in foreclosing. You don’t want beef, you want bland tofu, Your breath smell like ham and a hand-old shoe. I’ll feed your mom a pan full of baboon stew, Then spank her ass till it’s black and blue while paintin’ her back porch with her own sandblown puke. I skin your face like a Fruit Roll-Up, chew through your torso chunks, Hang your guts on a clothesline, flappin’ like war crows. Your girl got scabs in her throat from deep-throatin’ corn poles, She gaggin’ on nut mist, cryin’ in torn clothes. I stomp heads like steel toes at a Blade blood rave, Rip your tongue out, stir soup at Hell’s floodgate. You rap like a Whole Foods vegan overdosed on bug spray, While I carve my initials in your spine with a serrated blade. Your bitch built like she’s got genital warts under her gym shorts, Got hips like Björk that click like a busted limb torch. She queefs out pus and smells like divorce, Then begs you to bust while she snorts off a piece of raw pork. Your mom got kicked out the morgue for flirtin’ with corpses, Sippin’ embalming fluid, purrin’ in corsets. She lickin’ the grout out the tile in portions, Sayin’, “Please choke me out while P. Diddy endorses.” I don’t battle, I whack-a-mole heads through a bass drum, Make your chick strip for a Chef Boyardee pay stub. You rap like a Dr. Phil post from a paste chump, While I sever the so-called clever from the waist up.

0/500