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trophy room (psa freestyle) - tabs lyrics

good evening. it has been brought to my attention that there are still wack rappers out there. and in my on going effort to rid the world of sad wack rappers, i am forced to come and take heads once more. so without further ado

hip-hop 101 there’s rules to this cl-ss son
be an original writer, never a biter that’s task1ne
on some quick draw sh-t that’s trying to pull a fast one
but that gun’s a cap gun and tabs one’s a magnum
i’m a one man marvel verse capcom
coal’s a maniac and that’s who i learned to scr-p from
i give a f-ck if you wack crumbs are platinum
this here’s a breath of fresh air to a collapsed lung
i don’t care if you got that semi c-cked
i’ll throw heavy shots that’ll knock you into amnesia call them forget-me-nots
this the type of talk that get me locked
this fed up wop will let the machete chop the head of a fetty wop
got a blade to sever these great pretenders
so that they remember being the fakest ever is a fatal error
knew you were straight placenta from the day i met ya
staying with the g-y agenda, changing genders, bunch of caitlyn jenners
your frame of mind is cancerous
blinded by avarice and shiny amulets, only amateurs try and capture this
i ain’t having it, this b-st-rd’s a disaster when frying cannabis
the mic is what i’m frying you lying b-st-rds with
it’s kind of hazardous, even if i die and rising after it like i am lazarus inside of nazareth
i ride with a tribe of homicidal savages
i’m sure i’m not alone when i say i watch the thrown like gaius c-ssius
so here’s my public service announcement
i’ll murder you cowards and all the rest of them f-cking herbs that you’re down with
the mic is the weapon that i’m burning you clowns with
run up in your session with my brethren and turn it to auschwitz
these internet herbs are like verbal accountants
“you already said those words” f-cking nerd don’t worry about it
my job is to have rapper’s heads perfectly mounted on a mantle with the word example circled around it
what this emcee recites, leaves the mic looking like a lit torch
as a rebel i eat my devil’s pie with a pitchfork
this thought will leave ’em distraught
man these rappers mad as hatters cuz we manufacture what they import
dead the bull sh-t and sl1ck talk
feels like you wrote your raps in lip gloss rocking lil kim’s gym shorts
the fans have been ripped off
the game needs to be policed, correction officer, i ain’t talking rick ross
you’re worried about some fake beef, drake, meek and a ghost writer
i’m worried that ab is literally a ghost writer
someone should of aborted your whole cypher
bunch of fraudulent douches supporting the music of a known biter
i’m an old timer, product of them gold rhymers
you hoes are ’bout as fire as a fire hose verse a broke lighter
ain’t got sh-t on these men, we don’t depend on adult diapers
when i grab a mic that’s a sign i’m a strike like a pro-lifer
blow by ya in a low rider, bumping deep cover
the pun and joe version to show serpents how we treat suckers
us old timers hold it down for each other
i’m no thug, it’s in my nature to show love like a tree-hugger
sick author spitting darts at your clique partner
f-ck rapping, i have a funny reaction when it gets darker
that’s when i burn bridges like chris parker
with a bic sparker, til i got that sh-t looking like a lit sparkler
sh-t starter, fists of spliffs i hit harder
go head on with this kamikaze if you wanna get martyred
i’ll write b-tch on your grave in big marker
then f-ck ya b-tch, that’s right y’all she’ll be catching this viking’s b-lls like chris carter
but f-ck it nevermind, i’d rather spend my time filling ever mind with my clever lines
i’m heaven sent divine, you never met my mind
you know he’s lyrical like the department of motor vehicles, endless lines
you only down to ride, i grab the wheel
while you l1ck the -ss of the master for the m-ss appeal
f-ck how you f-ggots feel, y’all are wack and that’s for real
you can eat my d-ck and my sack, now that’s a package deal
please believe he don’t need a visa to pull your master card
he’s a monstrous beast, leaves his mark on beef like a cattle prod
they call me wild cat cuz of the way i shatter stars
leave them mallowmars with m-ssive scars every you’re half a bar
a battle god trapped in a avante grade avatar
crash landed from mars on top of your fancy cars
you f-ggots are rocking mascara and wearing bras
i’m aware that’s where you are, sicker than the kid’s cancer ward
advance for war, give a f-ck if your clique with ya
y’all ain’t rowdy, you’d get ronda rouseyd by my kid sister
l, pun, wallace and kane when i spit scriptures
all 4 on the jumbotron, the big picture
i ain’t in it for the grammy though, my family knows
there’s food for thought i can bestow but you keep your pantry closed
could give a f-ck about wiz khalifa and amber rose
i’m more concerned i don’t know which is wearing the panty hose
now watch the hood lose it
i think cyhi the only one in g.o.o.d. music that actually makes good music
the rest just looks stupid, that’s why the kids took to it
play that sh-t out my speakers and it put my foot through it
f-ck that battle y’all thought it was really hype
f-cking hardly more like a slumber party pillow fight
you try to tell me that them kids is nice
might have to run your jewels cause neither hops on a lp (el-p) to k!ll a mic (k!ller mike)
i’ll p-ss on your top rhymers, then hog tie your non-cypher c-ck-riding blog writers
’bout to set the bar a lot higher
come and get me son this is flaming 151 shots fired

(buck-buck) once again f-ck all of y’all. tired of these wack -ss rappers. f-cking f-ggots, i spit on y’all

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