Multiple Choice - Linguistics

B, we got the illest, sickest DJ

C, we got the best beats

D, we’re all of the above, real emcees

Verse 1 — IQ

Ripping it with viciousness, incisions with scissor tips

A wizard, whip my magic wand on your mom’s clitoris

You illiterate idiots are blowing like a bagpipe

And couldn’t see me with a MAG Flashlight, thats right

My appetite is getting larger, hitting harder, getting smarter

Than a Harvard grad who had the star, spitting darker

If you can’t handle the shit go to San Francisco

Manage a disco, or cruise the planet with Sisqo

Just don’t be sampling this flow, fuck that

You rugrats are getting more spins than a hubcap

But you suck at rapping, I ain’t sparing you

You better bail out now before you need a parachute

Tearin' you a new one, I know it gets embarassing

You’re barely in touch and gayer than Mr. Garrison

Staring into the camera trying to please the media

You can’t compete with the lyrical encyclopedia

Chorus X 1 — IQ

Verse 2 — Entity

Swinging swords and axes, Writes of Passage

Entity brings war to slack, kids who play parts

I was sent to slay hearts, my sharp darts snap all on impact

I bomb tectonic plates till the earth crack

Your mom b’est explain how she birth wack

Passing genes for you to spit the worst raps, weak as fuck

If your brain capacity peaks its luck, your technique leak spits that suck

You couldn’t lay a fist on us

My apostoles rip hostile from lips to tonsil

We spread gospel, so awful

Our trip is an artful novel that melts fossils in the brothel

Even my breath is harmful

Superhero-marvel, look at the sparkle in my eyes when I watch you

Ready to die, yo I got you

Drop the marble, hidden floors, using Marshall-Law

I crack jaws 'cause I’m raw, intense like scenes from Saw

My mic stand is a spleen from God, here to scream at some broads

When I’m caught hid in a place, I’m lucky

They let me out of the cage, against the machine like Rage…

I shift the stage with earthquakes kill tracks in one take

To see me its rare like undercooked steak

The metaphor for me is 'scrape', when I’m set upon hate I was told to finish

'your plate'

Verse 3 — Kasper

My accursed cursive turns words into worse verses

And serves the first person deserving in my observance

In layman terms, I’m the purest, the furthest from fake

I remain perfect, since birth I made it my purpose to surface and stay above

ground

Around the then-emcees that understand the art that I’m a part of

Get cha gaurds up, cause when you least expect it

You could be the next rapper Kasper just checked

Come and test your skills I gaurantee you will not survive

I apply enough pressure to pry through your mind and find whatever lies inside

And use it as leverage against your defensive set of ryhmes

So why would you ever think that I wouldn’t prepare for battle

If I’m prepared to die, look in my eyes, your can see the fire within

The passion that burns as the passion that lives

I’m as sick as they come when it comes to spittin'

Off of the top or written it’s just a gift I was given

If its a mic ima rip it, with little or no effort

My flow sounds eastern but I’m reppin' the western

So don’t you ever compare coast to coast

Unless you dare to compare this pair of hands to your throat

My grip is like slipping in a pitbull’s jaw

You gotta spit a full clip just to get me off, bitch