Saturday, January 4, 2014

Brown Bombin' Verse

(Crocker Verse)
/Junior if it slipped, Crocker in the slit/ Hyperbaric fresh, here's a pillow with a mint/ Open wound bleeding, in the kennel, with a pit/ My roundabout way, to say, that it's bout to be some shit/ Swinging like I'm Tiger's wife/ Tony Tiger, Tiger Stripes/ In my Jushin "Thunder" Liger light, feelin' kinda right/ My most regal of Sphinx's pose/ Blunt rolled and the lean's cold/ Acknowledge, don't front, about-face like you don't know/ Every time I rhyme should be preceded with drum rolls/ Snub nose fires, three times then tongue rolls/ Off, into a tangent, that makes it feel like the sun's cold/ Bars eclipse light, midday to pitch night/ Mercury'll start to freeze, and I'll smile like it's life/ Schematics, my tactics represent I'm a bastards/ Voice-box be a weapon that was built to kill fascists/ My people are savage, alchemists with the magic/ Be the same motherfucker 'till I'm eaten by maggots/ If you don't understand it, then you'll probably damn it/ Sixteenth Cherokee pointin' a pistol at Standish/

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