Elements > Tha Studio

Indo~G vs. Spicemuthafuc*in1

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Spicemuthafuc*in1:
My ozone is infected with verbal prestige
Almost too good to be true like it was a dream
Wake up, snap out of it this flow is pure reality
Put your lights out like a Mortal Combat fatality

Im creative in every word I place
On the paper and if doesn't make sense well fuck it play it anyways
But usually my rhymes are known to blow minds
Like a full blown al qaida terrorist, a threat to all mankind

Pump you up like the slogan of brand new Reeboks
Just do it like Nike when it comes to cocking the gloccs
And pop and then rock like a bag of pop rocks
And funny ass rappers get played on tracks like they was playing madden on x-box

every target i lock at i aim at with Precision
i read those whack ass raps thank god i didnt have to listen
to your pathetic voice trying to make some noise
when Im a full blooded lyricist thats always coming poised

Dynamic:
Its obvious that u Lackin n Intelligence/
Cuz most ya rhymes are Wack n they Irrelevant/
I got tha 4-5 Blacker than an Elephant/
Aim it 2 tha back of ya Cap & pop a Shell In It/
I don't mean 2 diss ya Hopez n Rap Dreamz/
But tha shit u write, u sound like a Coke or Crack Fiend/
Ima nigga who Smoke and Stack Green/
But Indo clock bitchez like a Coach on Track Teams/
You Couldnt Fuck wit my Flow even if it was Stuck n ur Hoe/
This nigga tryna prove that hes an Emcee, but No/
Why u step 2 tha king? Im ahead of you Guy/
My gunz bust more than that nigga from American Pie/
I cant wait till you retaliate, I know you Ready to Lie/
You tried 2 talk 'BIG' to me, so now get 'Ready to Die'/



Ill Stab n Lynch you with a Pad n Pencil/
Lyrical god, I got mad skillz but you dont even Have Potential/
In rap I pick up the slack in what you Whores is Lackin?/
Yall supposed to be rappin on boards but yall just Bored of Rappin?/
In Rap I Do This, if its a Mac I Shoot It/
My bullets don?t discriminate, it dont matter if you Black Or Jewish/
I spit that Other Shit, that neo-soul Brother Shit/
That shit that got the fiends scratchin, askin for Another Hit/
& yall spittin on some Horrible Garbage Shit/
The same shit that?ll make ya kid an Orphan Or Fatherless/
My Flow Is The Hardest Kid/
Sum of yall niggaz is decent, but halfa yall don?t even Know What An Artist Is/

Nicca please

Dynamic:
You so Soft bitch ya gimme jock itch,make my glock twitch, kill u in ur cars cockpit/
I Take the shot quick, you try and block it,next time keep ur eyes on the clock bitch/
U dead an now Im the reason ur moms Tubes are tied.Lets jus say I left a clue inside/

YEAAAH NIGGA YOU CANT TOUCH ME!
u jus a lil BITCH, I Steal bitches from lil wiggas like you.
IM REAL YOU FAKE, END OF STORY HOMMIE!!!
Geaaa Spicemuthafuc*in1 u nothin, Quit Frontin'

Spicemuthafuc*in1:
I kill with paragraphs never with bullets
when it comes to potential Ive got it to the fullest
your a phony, cold cut like baloney, you'll never blast
only with words cause you a studio gangster, but I'll give you a pass

pull your hoe card, like I'll pull ya bitch
make her bounce up and down like Im hittin the switch
don't get it twisted like mobb deep i come sicker than most
stacking as much paper as there are sick rappers on the west coast

claiming my rhymes are irrelevant
please reread what your wrote
most of your shit don't make sense
a bunch of random words and notes

Im gonna do ya like Canibus did LL Cool J
or like Kurupt on calling out names, leaving you with nothing to say
your rhymes are made up, your persona is fable
my lyrics are crazy like the bitch in "the hand that rocks the cradle"


now try and fuck with that

Dynamic:
The Rhymes that u Usin'
I Find It Amusin'
but aint nobody laughin, now its Time for a Bruisin'
the Nine that Im Choosin'
gives "Flat Lines" n' Contusions
and i'm literally killin u, this aint no Kind of Illusion,
or Kind of Test, wigga betta Find ya Vest,
or im a knock ya white ass down like Ron Artest,
the Heckler'll make ya corpse into a Slime n' Mess
and my sons and daughters is what ya Dime Ingest, (think about it)
cuz ya Dime's a Whore, she told me u was Kinda Poor,
livin in da same trailor since '94,
its sad cuz now u bout to see more Types of Gore,
when i put da shank in u like the Vibe Awards,

I'll Beat ya "A"
When i grab the Heat n Spray
the only time you kill niggaz is "GTA" (jeah)
but this aint Vice City
I grab ya Wife's Titties
n i bet this crakka think the best on the Mic's Diddy,
cuz he Just As Bad Or Worse
jus read this Fuckin Faggot's Verse,
all i gotta do is spit and bitch' Ass is Murked,
Im Spillin' Vodka Juice
n ya silver Grill I'll Knock it Loose,
cuz in rap this wigga'll get Killed By Doctor Suesse, (ill)

I'm fresh keep my Rubies Red, Wit My Slippers And Tie
this Fruit Is Dead, Get The Steel In His Eye
but im still Shootin Lead, Watch You Shiver And Fry
and ya must be "Truly Dead", Cuz He "Livin A Lie". (think about it)

I rip verses and im Rulin' Hooks
Duelin' Rooks, and Indo stay Foolin Crooks,
Leave u for dead drownin in a Pool or Brook,
yo give it up, stay focused on School and Books, 

u Worser Than Nice Son, get hunted like a Circle Of Bison
i'll leave ya throat Purple And Sliced In
before you done wit one Verse Yo I'll Write Ten,
Indo and Spice is similar to "Erkel" and "Tyson"
its No Competition
ya Flow's Flop and Flippin
and indo'll demolish ya Whole Opposition
u need to pay attention, u Know Stop And Listen
cuz the shit u doin is gon get the Chrome Glock 'a' Spittin!


that shit took me no time to spit, man, its like breathin to me.

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