LieBull

Trippin's not really the tip i'm on my lips should spawn something more wholesome with a whole holistic sum of upliftment the cup of my gift went around the cipher circle like a waterbottle at a rave why utter battle craving antics when u panic soon as my manic mandibles start stringing u like a mandolin shaolin sings of things incomprehensible you're reprehensible with your ostensible attempts at defining my essence i'm refining these blessin' to stop the stressin of those messin with the new world order ordeurves served in this ode to you say au revoir to the reservoir when you blew the code my abode strobed in the light of heaven revvin' for the inevitable leviable uprising surmising that my timings enviable in viable Bibles liable to spark revival in dark and dingy dungeons your wrung out to dry like a wrong number sung into slumber i begin to wonder should i plunder this language savagely or leave it ravaged by these average cadavers And their lavish adverts My egghead scrambles as I gamble that my ramble will amble through the bramble and stand tall, but it doesn't hold a candle to the bold vandals who scandalized the lies of a nation at this art's instigation. In the heart of this situation duplication seems inevitable, it's incredible how pliable are my rivals, replying with unreliable edifices, they're liable to disgrace the places they mean to intelligently represent. I don't demean - I diligently prevent the venting of hot air. I got caught with a stare at the stars, It's not fair that I'm not behind bars, but i never spat lines on the bar anyways. Many play at spraying, only obeying the on-beat. I spawn beat-downs with my sweet nouns and bombastic chiastic tactics that bounce slightly off-kilter, what I pronounce might be felt despite the filter. I request stilts-we're not blessed to be high as the land of kilts, still my hand has killed off pressed quality formats, soft wannabee four-tracks, poor cats, they oughta be doormats. Can't ignore the fact that I've returned to file a vinyl and burn a CD that turns consistently. These majestic testaments are anti-sceptic I rep kid in freestyle u be in denial, flouting your pineal gland spouting about how your band stands but couldn't touch my marbles with a handspan Dorc my man plans to make phatter beats each second don't matter cuz the old one's are so sweet we already got twenty records plenty of stubborn pornheads got torn and stuffed in the shed cuz I bled for this movement and when the groove went to jiggy did u figure the alternative was to alter the native sounds or bend and get down? as I rock sixty rhymes per minute I'm like a pixy eating spinach, Popeye powered, clock on the Mean Greenwich which witch was shocked when I finished this incantation cuz my plan was to go back and attack the plantations, a time-travelling misfit unravelling your dis quick, I flicked it off like an annoying fly, why this toy try and mess with the blessed rhyme sprayer time to say a prayer … God, don't let me be a player!