That’s Twice (Diss) (EXPLICIT LYRICS)

Soulful, neo funk, neo soul, futuristic RnB Grooves, ratchet romance, cloud rap, Chicago mumble rap, Atlanta mumble rap, west coast mumble rap, 808’s, modern rap, autotune, grime

V4.5+

Hook? Nah, I don’t need filler, just dismember, till there’s nothin’ left to remember.
Your catalog’s so dry, it cries in December.
I’m so sick, I’ll slit my wrist and drip syphilis on your clitoris.
Your mixtape puddle? I flood the globe with magma,
I’ll turn mild flows into volcanoes, lava and plasma.
You variable timin’? I variable annihilation,
I drop absurdities, porno metaphors, you ain’t relatin’.
One account preachin’, one account complainin’,
but it’s the same weak rapper just maskin’ his name in.
Invain, Godz, Zack, boom bap prompts, shuffle masks on the stage,
but no matter the costume, the bot run on sentence bars and hate sound the same.

You rhyme like a substitute teacher on Nyquil,
I rhyme like a goat on a jet ski doin’ high pulls.
You think you’re psycho but soft like Boy George mixed with George Micheals.
You far from Micheal Myers, 
cuz your verses sag like titties pressed against a laundromat dryer,
Mine light whole cities like a meth lab on fire.
Dedication weak like a Hallmark card,
I spit like a porno flick shot in a graveyard.
You rhyme like a cat coughin’ hairballs slow,
Celibate for the hell of it, is a no no. 
You comin’ up short like Frodo, no homo.
The only one stuck in the closet is this Bozo Quasimodo.
I ain’t mad you repeatin’ my name I’m just glad for the free promo.

Aye!
I roast your shoes, roast your ears, roast your teeth,
Roast the way you wipe ass when you sit and pee.
You rap like your drunk aunt fartin’ in court,
I spit like the paperwork for the divorce.
You brag “been cold,” but you lukewarm pizza,
I’m absurd like your señorita on shrooms with amnesia with a five o’clock shadow screamin’ CHA CHA CHA CHIA!!!

You brag on a catalog dry as some salt,
I brag on a bitch ridin’ dick while she talk.
You rhymin’ weak lists like “bread, milk, soap,”
While mine is “anal, throat, chains, rope.”
My flows are bananas, split, peeled, fried,
Yours? Great Value brand chips left stale outside to dry.
You claim “variable timing,” but stumble and trip,
I juggle three flows while humpin’ your mother’s tits.
Your Visine doesn’t work, stop using it to gurgle after your wiener circle with Steve Urkel and Ninja Turtles. 
My raps laps yours in hurdles and collapse your internals like tape worm holes.
If you think you’re so better and more clever?
Then why does one song of mine got more likes than all yours together? (Ha! Ha! Ha!)

4153/7500

Boy, GodzChozeN, you droppin’ bars like Paulsy’s named Logan (slap!) I spit like Lion O on nitro, leavin’ you burnt and toasted (skrrt!) Your dedication? Cute, lil’ amateur prank, I read it once, laughed so hard cuz one of your 2 likes is you spankin’ your wank. Lyrics limp like your dick when a hot chick exposes her buns, I’m meltin’ your brain, you do this in vain, all your wack tracks be soundin’ the same. You think “rhyman” counts? That’s a kindergarten flex, You’re the type of fake to take a bitch on a date and ask the waitress for separate checks. Your lines whiff like the shit in your tighty whities Try to fight me with your fake ass tai chi, I’ll beat yo ass so fast, a full body cast is highly likely. Mix bullets in ice cream? Please, I mix anal beads with whipped cream, While you beatin’ and peepin’ through the door screen, I’m makin’ your whore scream. No scheme, no theem, nah, GodzChozeN stopped frozen, I’m roastin’ and motor boatin’ his ma’s tits in slow motion til they’re broken. You grip Visine while I grip her thunder thighs, She screamin’ my name while you fantasize about Jazzercize. Rest in bed, size queen, what a joke (ha!) I’ve got similes balls deep in your mommy’s throat. Chest to spleen? Bitch please! I can’t believe you quote Kool Keith in a battle flow. I’ll hit you with a blast of dope. Your raps are laughable, shatter your skull, snap your clavicle. Liquify you with sulphuric acid, closed casket. You rappin’ like retarded molasses, gettin’ butt fucked by a cactus. I “put words that rhyme all in a row?” weak ass plea, I rhyme “dick in the blender” with “her pussy to me.” Wordplay hittin’ harder than clappin’ her cheeks when she’s moanin’, You can’t handle bars, the mic’s wide open when you’re coastin’. Hook? Nah, I don’t need filler, just dismember, till there’s nothin’ left to remember. Your catalog’s so dry, it cries in December. I’m so sick, I’ll slit my wrist and drip syphilis on your clitoris. Your mixtape puddle? I flood the globe with magma, I’ll turn mild flows into volcanoes, lava and plasma. You variable timin’? I variable annihilation, I drop absurdities, porno metaphors, you ain’t relatin’. One account preachin’, one account complainin’, but it’s the same weak rapper just maskin’ his name in. Invain, Godz, Zack, boom bap prompts, shuffle masks on the stage, but no matter the costume, the bot run on sentence bars and hate sound the same. You rhyme like a substitute teacher on Nyquil, I rhyme like a goat on a jet ski doin’ high pulls. You think you’re psycho but soft like Boy George mixed with George Micheals. You far from Micheal Myers, cuz your verses sag like titties pressed against a laundromat dryer, Mine light whole cities like a meth lab on fire. Dedication weak like a Hallmark card, I spit like a porno flick shot in a graveyard. You rhyme like a cat coughin’ hairballs slow, Celibate for the hell of it, is a no no. You comin’ up short like Frodo, no homo. The only one stuck in the closet is this Bozo Quasimodo. I ain’t mad you repeatin’ my name I’m just glad for the free promo. Aye! I roast your shoes, roast your ears, roast your teeth, Roast the way you wipe ass when you sit and pee. You rap like your drunk aunt fartin’ in court, I spit like the paperwork for the divorce. You brag “been cold,” but you lukewarm pizza, I’m absurd like your señorita on shrooms with amnesia with a five o’clock shadow screamin’ CHA CHA CHA CHIA!!! You brag on a catalog dry as some salt, I brag on a bitch ridin’ dick while she talk. You rhymin’ weak lists like “bread, milk, soap,” While mine is “anal, throat, chains, rope.” My flows are bananas, split, peeled, fried, Yours? Great Value brand chips left stale outside to dry. You claim “variable timing,” but stumble and trip, I juggle three flows while humpin’ your mother’s tits. Your Visine doesn’t work, stop using it to gurgle after your wiener circle with Steve Urkel and Ninja Turtles. My raps laps yours in hurdles and collapse your internals like tape worm holes. If you think you’re so better and more clever? Then why does one song of mine got more likes than all yours together? (Ha! Ha! Ha!)

0/500