Street Corner Free Style Rap......

Cribs fat-ass momma got a call from Orkin
Day say "honey, we want to bottle yo pork skin."
Sinky and nasty you kill all kinds of bugs
Oh, you so ugly ,get under da rug.

How dat boy Cribs he come from yo loins
Be a mystery to all but then we think of your goins

He run a tight stable for all to see
Could it be he didn't fall far from da tree?

Originally posted by rwingett
Rwing is too white
to rap with y'all
it doesn't sound right
with a Texas drawl


(I don't really speak with a Texas drawl, but hey, it rhymed)

Say what? say who? Say me dat aint none of you homegirls is rappin' wit a clue

While y'all bin sparrin' wit' lines so weak they be charmin', I've kicked back wit a blunt, layed back and started laughin', time now tho' for da T-grand to start marchin', throwin' punches so hard they leave all y'all barfin', you'll be comin' to me beggin' for some second chancin', too late tho 'cos i already started on yer embalmin', I be so good it's alarmin', obnoxious and enchantin', at the same time wit' every word 'n' every line bein' so goddamn fine I be always on da borderline movin' up to a new level, foot to the peddle, making pacts wit' da devil, zoomin' off 'n' leavin' y'all wit' no shirt tail to pull on, 'cos who dares to take 'dis bull on, pay respects 'n' face me full on?

Originally posted by T1000
Say what? say who? Say me dat aint none of you homegirls is rappin' wit a clue

While y'all bin sparrin' wit' lines so weak they be charmin', I've kicked back wit a blunt, layed back and started laughin', time now tho' for da T-grand to start marchin', throwin' punches so hard they leave all y'all barfin', you'll be comin' to me beggin' for so ...[text shortened]... irt tail to pull on, 'cos who dares to take 'dis bull on, pay respects 'n' face me full on?

Originally posted by T1000
Say what? say who? Say me dat aint none of you homegirls is rappin' wit a clue

While y'all bin sparrin' wit' lines so weak they be charmin', I've kicked back wit a blunt, layed back and started laughin', time now tho' for da T-grand to start marchin', throwin' punches so hard they leave all y'all barfin', you'll be comin' to me beggin' for so ...[text shortened]... irt tail to pull on, 'cos who dares to take 'dis bull on, pay respects 'n' face me full on?

Hold your nose, as I bust some flows!
And they hit you in the face like a fire hose!
RC is here
As well as T-Grand!
Chillin' on the corner near the hotdog stand.

They put their necks on the line to bust with a rhyme...
"Yo Cribs call the Rap Police! I thinks I smell a crime"!

So you both got bold, and tried to lay it on us.
T-Grand, you stick to Squirrels...
RC, you stick to Sonnets.

Cuz P don't Play,
and Cribs might say....
"Yo' you both got fat mammas, and I'm ready to play!"

P-

Originally posted by Phlabibit
Hold your nose, as I bust some flows!
And they hit you in the face like a fire hose!
RC is here
As well as T-Grand!
Chillin' on the corner near the hotdog stand.

They put their necks on the line to bust with a rhyme...
"Yo Cribs call the Rap Police! I thinks I smell a crime"!

So you both got bold, and tried to lay it on us.
T-Grand, you sti ...[text shortened]... lay,
and Cribs might say....
"Yo' you both got fat mammas, and I'm ready to play!"

P-

You know what tha debaters be sayin' 'bout you?
They say when RBHILL ain't around, ol' kirksey will do.
Anotha Jesus freak whose mind be a waste
Can't think fo' yo'self, just copy and paste

I just had to quote this great piece of text,
For it tickled me funny, it's a great piece of jest,
I'm not much of a rapper, it has to be said,
With a broad Scottish accent and booze in my head.

So, off with the cufflinks and up with the sword,
And see if I battle with a verbal assault,
Wait! I can see just right now,
That didn't quite ryme, but it will do, I vow.

So who shall I handle, the first of the lot,
To make things quite clear, on this very spot,
That there's only one poet with humour and wit,
Who shags like a monster and smells like a clit.

The first of the lot is young Cribby G,
Who verbally dribbles like a pup does a pee,
Soon he'll come 'round and he will start to see,
That he smells like his mother, and that smell is bree.

So on to phla, phle, pflop-thing-a-bibit,
Who's name I can't spell, because I'm a Brit,
You should shorten your name by quite a bit,
Change it to Peter or 'the American git'.

And there's the chicken out Kenne-de-bunk,
Who thinks that he's rhyming quite like a hunk,
But really he's not, and he's quite out of spunk,
I do better than him, and I'm really drunk.

Yo, let's talk of the holy man Kirksey,
As he bends down and prays the whole bloody day,
What's that, I didn't quite hear what you say?
Your mother thought I was a pretty good lay?

And so you all see, I'm really quite fit,
As I shag like a monster and smell like a clit,
But who's clit, that's the question at stake...
I'll tell you right now, make no mistake.

I met this old tramp, out on the street,
As I tripped on the pavement, over his feet,
He said sorry lad and gave me a hug,
It wasn't too pleasant but it was kinda snug.

He'd just been a pimpin, he happened to say,
With his whores from the ghetto, that very day,
The mothers of Kirksey, chicken and G,
Their smell it rubbed off and then on to me.

And so here I sit, behind my keyboard,
Drunk as an otter, basically floored,
Just wanted to share this little bit
of why I do smell like your mother's clit

Fee Fi Fo Fum
Outta tha woodwork tha rappaz come
T-Grand, Royal-C, and tha shavixmir
And I thought I was tha only rapper up in here

I know this be a battle, but you foolz can rhyme
Royal-C spittin' verses in double-time
T-Grand free flowin', rhymin' every beat,
And shav talkin' 'bout my momma, turnin' up tha heat.

Yo check this out...

Put kirksey togetha wit tha Royal Chicken
What you get? KFC, my nizzle, that's finga lickin' !
Good, like my pimpin', but cheap like a smoke
Up in tha A-Dam coffee shops where shav go to toke

Yo T-Grand, you remind me of my boy Eminem
Yo' style be tight, but not as good as him
Keep practicin' and you can join tha Pimp Attack crew
Oh yeah, one mo' thing, yo' momma bootie stink too!

Sho', y'all can rap, and I give respect
But I gotz to remind ya, lest you suckaz forget
That I'm tha OG of tha RHP.
That's right, this pimpin' named Cribby G.


Keep bringin' 'em, if you can keep slingin' 'em,
Cribs

T-Grand givin' heart to da Smack Attack clan, and playin' a part in the Cribs masterplan? Whoa dawg, layin' it down man to man, respect for the ask, I hope it aint no scam, it aint an offer that comes around daily, what say me? Gotta decide if I want on fo' da ride, but first ya gotta know if I'ma one post wonder 'n' a second post blunder, or whether I really do have da delivery to come up to best scratch, befo' you play me in any real-ass chess match!

Yo Cribs, y'know my flow be unique, Shady style comin' up from da street, read my lines real fast and still my verse stay neat, aint no other rapper out there able to perform this feat, singin' only truth not fable to adorn dis beat, ya runnin' from yo' kitchen as I turn up da heat, I'm shunnin' all ya bitchin' as I burn up the sheet lyrics of RC, P-bitty, Shav and the cleric's, there be lame-soundin' hysterics comin' from these ugly John Merricks, from the gapin' mouths of these flea-bitten nerds, now who wanna go against me wit'out their pre-written words? 'cos I be comin' at you niggaz wit undoubted freestyle, I be runnin' at you wiggaz wit only gatz 'n' a smile, one to harm my sly enemiez, other to charm blouses off da fly laydeez, 'cos listen up, I've only started dishin' up da starters, showin' up yo' raps as Titanic disasters that have hit an ice floe, but really it's just my flow, I'ma set to land another great blow, you can't do nuffin' but rate my show, if you don't it be 'cos I can't stoop that low to meet your verses, and as they go I'ma wavin' by all these bleak-cast hearses containin' couplets and yo' weak-assed curses, rhyming couplets be kindergarten touches, delivered by those who can't get near enough to touch this, just nursery rhymes for these dumbed-down times, yo' final-word-in-a-line-rhymes will never stifle my chimes, 'cos whilst yo' infernal whining and error-laded timing gripes like nuffin' but a JOKE, my internal rhyming draws envy-laden admiring from da likes of my homey Alexander Pope, leavin' yo' words stuck deep down yo' throat fo' I aint never gladder than when you whack rappers choke leavin' all you dumb-ass slack slappers broke.

Ya heard.
Word.

Originally posted by T1000
T-Grand givin' heart to da Smack Attack clan, and playin' a part in the Cribs masterplan? Whoa dawg, layin' it down man to man, respect for the ask, I hope it aint no scam, it aint an offer that comes around daily, what say me? Gotta decide if I want on fo' da ride, but first ya gotta know if I'ma one post wonder 'n' a second post blunder, or whether I ...[text shortened]... when you whack rappers choke leavin' all you dumb-ass slack slappers broke.

Ya heard.
Word.

Come in atch ya from da 606
Prepared to give one and all up side da head wit a pimp stick
Come as you are - weak as you be
Just like Ole Cribs ho's loaded wit fleas

Here I be standin' so proud, so tall
Gonna dish out da truth before ya'll fall
Yo Grandmasta C ya step up to da plate
But nothin' left there, yo momma done ate

Cornbread and cheese all loaded with syrup
Fatback and molasses enough to make ya tear up
Packin' on back put Ole Oprah to shame
Passin' nasty gas, Yo! Put out da flame!

Bringin' it home for all to see
Got dat gluteous max lookin' like cottage cheese
Lets talk about his lazy ass stable
Sittin on der tails always at da table

All of em Brides of Godzilla
Not a damn one a thrilla from Manilla
Dat one from Italia say she be performia
All we know fo sho she be from Stankonia

And what be dis Grandmasta T
Gone dat British accent for all to see
And where on da street be Ringworm G and his freethinkin flock
Seems da boy never heard a Kid Rock

And O who'd I forget?
From da sewers of Holland so nasty and wet
Give it up for young Shavixmer
Remindin us of Crib's ho's smellin like his rear

So give me what ya got
From da hills of KY so hot
Yo booty galore and booty delicious
Rockin da 606 it's Hillbilly Pimpalicious....ya dig?

Enough said, I'm a bring tha dread, drop it on yo' nasty ass head
like a pound of lead, while you in bed, wit a dude named Fred,
gettin' head...shiiit, I'd rather be dead!

But I got game, got fame, you lame, you all tha same, a bunch
of no-names, fake gold chains, takin' Rogaine, fightin' old age,
but I'm tha new wave...shiiiit, bringin' dis pimpin' to dance on yo' grave!

T-Grand, you made yo' stand, but I'm tha real man, you like Stan,
gettin' mad, drivin' fast, have a blast, you wanna crash...shiiiit, you
must be ashamed of yo' no-rappin' ass!

I copped yo' style, just fo' a while, it brought a smile, to walk a mile,
in yo' shoes, but I got news, my rhymes ain't a ruse, I done wit tha clues,
pay yo' dues...shiiit, you could be tha secretary of tha Pimp Attack crew!
Biatch!

A masta of all forms,
Cribs

Now people know why the only good thing about rap is the beats.......

Originally posted by Alpha10
Now people know why the only good thing about rap is the beats.......