Masta Ace and Marco Polo Brooklyn
Why are you Underbuzz, Em which nigger tossed thus;
cuss me Hamas or Toys R Us? Maybe russian Rush-strike
chess. Some nutty bachelors nuts went cojones, fapping glass.
The mirrors empty, still some dogs growl at their image sass.
Roulette me tell you something, fettez vous jeux, rien Mike --
was you riding Kitt, or a trike. Untamed, then Ruben hiked
to his fathers second hand wives, concubines, so is the old fus.
Em made people dream, they can still scream, and bleed real;
but black rappers got too civil, then I close my eyes, still
I can see someone playing the contrabass chilling the neat.
I guess its cool, but not for me, I wasn't raised on Brooklin str.
instead I was fed communism, then it crumbled like the grill
from a pick up truck; to have a Nation fucked by Capital Bills
blowing Monikas their own DDLC in LIV while XES was deal.
How is the baker guilty, that so many fakers copy his recepy;
meat your maker, remake that take, to hate Em, for the rehab.
Redemption was based, but you unfazed, just hate, cause Ree
your Sun was being Moony, that Em showed his guts and bees
in the stomache, instead of butterflies. Why's Em underbuzz, chad?
Why did niggers throw Em under the bus, to cuss against white rad
Masses -- you just racist gatekeepers who wont forgive, Em's DNA!
How are you any better than the KKK, denying Em the Emmy;
while bitching it to any bling gangsta, who can shoot his brother.
Backstabbers and trackhatters, mad bladders scatter the black cry
for fatter but still high tuxed King Pin chatterbox, maybe grammarly
or grammy will award your classical foul Denmark Hamlet smother.
Em has done more to rap, than people want to fathom, you just bother
to be jeallous, accuse all the mistakes of the bipolars, to collar Em's spree.
Why is Em underbuzz, niggers thrown him under there cussing sus;
giants never respected in hometown, like Jesus, Fee-Fi-fo-fum, I smell
with my smoking gun, Simon sais, there is some cheese hashed in stash.
The One Piece was released in Chinatown en Tease, to stripmime Cash;
Johnny was still out cold, sold to record labels, but Em is trash? WTH!
Don't forget your grass, while you touch the brass, the sculls of Schell,
branding rap to be only if everything is done oldschool, funny Jizz...
Rules are meant to be broken, amended the pretended tender renders;
what wanna bring Elvis and Crosby back, fat chance I see black.
Fenrir must be unleashed from his shackles, Loki trickster the genders.
Generic gentries, sounding like 19th century bollox sold for Sentry.
Your zen is trying but it aint fooling me. Why is Em underbuzz crack
a smile on your back and snickers in your hollow souls, I wanna smack
that chip out of your ingrained cold shoulders and brains. Zoned Preppers.
I started from reading and writing Sonnets and Haikus, to smite thou;
reading more bibles and verses, you could dress-reherse Kill-Bill save Mercer!
I shall give you a merger, to ER the sergeant and Sergei, for the Peace shout
in Boromir, borrowing meanings and mean dreamy rhimings until stout
boyscout have to pout; the Jade Warriors loose their shine, attributing Mercy
with tough love, to El Shaddai the turtledoves into wild ravens. Rave me Cercy
some ash on the mouth. I shall Alp on your chest, raise Hell into Saints Row!!
Conflict the most honest form to abhore; abjure; admonish and concur.
In War all Saints will be sinners, and the devils skinners; Springfield
me some Summer of Love streamers with electric coolade while slurred.
Why is Em underbuzz, some niggers thrown Him under the bus, Murdered.
Was he Mordred or Morgana, that so many want to fate him into Ireland, shield
thine eyes, as Quasimodo jumps down for bodhi-slams, dunks the Dukes creeds.
It came a lot, Camelot, Games Lot -- hotspot, the thot, to corndot out that cure.
Why do we need rap to be sober and reserved, we all know how Shakespeare fared!
Well's Fargo, he couldn't fart gold, in his grave bold far gone, Most don't even care,
don't fare to Blair Witch, or hardscare the heart-attack into an oblivious nightmare;
shatter me, the tattered takes are on a breakdance for the Loch Ness/ Blake -- dare
me some beefcake, better than thy causa nostra to roofy Em cause fox trott glared.
If you so badass motherfuckers, take the fakers to school and church, to endear
some respect, instead of gloating, that some buns there left chilling in the ovenrear.
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