300 lines
17 KiB
Plaintext
300 lines
17 KiB
Plaintext
,...
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$$$$
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$$$$T""P$$$ba, ,gd&P""T&bg. ,gd&P""T&bg.
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ggggggggggg $$$$ $$$$$b d$$$$ $$$$b d$$$$ $$$$$b ggggggggggg
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""""""""""" $$$$ $$$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$ $$$$$bxxP&$$&P """""""""""
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$$$$ $$$$$$ T$$$$ $$$$P T$$$$
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$$$"""""" " """" $$$$$$ "T&$bxxd$&P" "T&$bxx$$$$$' " """"""$$$
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""" """""" """
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ggg "400 Lyrical Blows: A Survey of Undergroundhiphop.Com" ggg
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$$$ by -> Nybar $$$
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$$$ $$$
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$$$ [ HOE E-Zine #925 -- 12/01/99 -- http://www.hoe.nu ] .,$$$
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`"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""'
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you thought my mind wasn't open, waves of sine i'm soakin', and then
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dribbling out in flows, wisdom like Truffaut after 400 Blows, and yes,
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i'm sometimes French with my Connections, a beatrider with a lyrical
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predilection, could you beat this? not without a fucking miracle, b-boys
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stay dancing, i just keep it lyrical, ineffable; it's hard to even touch
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my material, especially when your skills are ethereal, i'm superior from
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posterior to anterior, people want to bite me like they were Hungry
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Hippos, but never have balls because i only kick off-the-tip flows--so
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fast they can't be encoded to memory, wack rappers keep the crowd
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bored[board] like emory, when i'm on stage, hiphop is what you're in for,
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i would never offer a fucking manicure, maybe knowledge and skills on a
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platter, i've assimilated data, so what's the matter? can't hang when my
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thoughts are the aptest, always taught off-the-head, like John the
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Baptist, cause while DJs fiend for records, I search through library
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books, heads like Alice and the looking glass, they've got to take a
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look, a peep; at my mental leaps and bounds, fuck it, the watch is
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stopping my sound.
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MC, thirteen plus three; so i can drive--steer the track around, take you
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for a ride, call me the mayor of lyrics, I won't take a bribe, stay a
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reformer, not a performer, because i don't perform, just express my
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mental state in rhyme-form, and destroy the wack when they cause me to
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get mad, like when they treat hip-hop as their new fad, yeah, excuse me,
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your spinal cord i had to sever, real hip-hop, we'll be here forever, and
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in the fore, never taking the back, or stabbing the back, up-front is
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where we're at, couldn't you feel that? no? you must be paralyzed, or
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blind in the eyes, to not see the beauty of what i devise, a ten minute
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epic i don't have to revise, perfect the first time, unlike Creation,
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quenching your thirst with rhyme syncopation, leaving you speechless,
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like Kevin Smith in one of his movies, see me repping and think "American
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Beauty", "shit he's ill--tearing the wack down with force of will", and
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i'll just leave you thinking that, as i end this 10 minute track...
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MC Nybar, rising to the top like cork / saying peace to the world, but
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what happened to New York? / Manhattan, Brooklyn--all 5 a hidden Earth /
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without 'em, what would hip hop be worth? / stopped sellin' lies, that
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never got bought / like he who complies, never gets taught / hip hop, has
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to be learned through life / hot drops must be earned through strife /
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difference since new york, is now you get the CREAM / before, you just
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got the props of your team /
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a few fly girls, and maybe the battle / these days, hip-hop megastores
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exist in Seattle / bought by Starbucks in a corporate acquisition / but
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who gives a fuck? they made the wrong decision / hip-hop has at least 4
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faces on the real / like janus times two, but only two have corporate
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appeal / the b-boys and graf, still showing em what's the deal /
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nurturing sick heads just when it's time to heal / besides--what can an
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mc do without b-boys rockin'? / rocksteady crew..but the clock is
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tick-tockin' / my free now has to come to an end / "big ups to NYC", let
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me append...
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my shit is incredible / when i spit it leaves indelible, impressions /
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like the mark of cain / freestyle sessions leave rappers in pain / kick
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more flavor than Ben and Jerry's / verbally riposte [repost], after i
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parry / to disarm a lyricist, and cut off the tongue / i'm a rapping
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therapist, like my name was Jung / my diagnosis: pussy MC for your your
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archtype / trying to rep when you can't move the crowd right / or spit
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bytes when you'd never open your mouth in the real / i'd battle with
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death, like i was in the Seventh Seal / or i was Bobby Seale, coming with
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the grace of a panther / keeping calm under fire, like a salamander /
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spitting twin similies simultaneously with energy / when i start rapping,
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it's never hyperbole / timing to ten minutes, then i'll be done /
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dropping hotness to heat the board like the sun / or Hiroshima, after the
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atom was split / true believers know my rap pattern is the shit...
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calling out utopiapeach!!
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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(do i dare to eat a PEACH?)
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this land is dystopic, so fuck that fake leech
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i'm mad anaerobic when i eat a peach
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what this means is that my stream is not oxygen, it's water
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munching on peaches, you bought for your daughter
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bitch--yo, check the photo of the spread lips
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found it on the internet, from the fed's tip
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pussy grippin', her father found her rippin'
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set her to strippin' on the commercial tippin'
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so mad masturbaters can get off
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beating jimbrowski, held aloft
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what? fuck it, a peach is inanimate
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utopia is fantasy, so i can't be standin' it
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communists in 'utopia', [in] what society do they live?
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while i'm smokin' ya, remember this gift i give:
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the US constitution--face it day to day
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all these MCs that i'm abusing?; that is simply play
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because through my power of syncopation
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i could re-arrange the _united nations_
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africa, india--all in together, alliance
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put on ya bindi yah, it's cheddar, no defiance
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and if the president withstands my lyrical bribe
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i will prevail like a miracle; tribe, immaterial
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make even michael jackson figgah
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maybe the anglo saxon _ain't_ the real nigga
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yeah, but i digress; to say the least
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this is the test of eating utopia-peach
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first, she never gets props for her speach
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her only value is that of kitsch
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she reps with sex raps, tryin' to be a demagogue
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i ordered a spinal tap, found it was made of lard
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that is, fat, and flab, all shit not lean
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huh--i'll fucking digest her like Sawney Beane
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and then maybe regurgitate up her spine
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when i need something to spit with my other wave of sine
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cause fuck it, nybar, my style is stereoscopic
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doubling the flow even if you're dropping hot shit
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my style is ill, but also poetic
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yo, i can eat peaches, i'm not diabetic
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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-> (peep the reply: Utopiapeach)
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-> posted Sunday, November 07, 1999 3:12:40 PM
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Dear Mr. Nybar,
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In response to your pathetic attempts to use my name to grab
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readers you forgot one thing, that you are insluting their Queen, I do
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nnot understadn why you would write this post filled with ingornace and
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fallisies,
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First, anyone who reads my posts knows I write POETRY/SPOKEN
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WORD>>>>>>not battle flow.. SEcond , the "SEX RAP', was a one time
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thing....out of the unusal realm for me, So before you wrie a post that
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makes you look like a retard and mental moron, research your subject a
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bit more..
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Oh, and you have no good talent to stand on to begin with so,
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why try...
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right..
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For future notice KEEP MY NAME OUT OF YOUR FLOW>>>
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this is not a challenge, it is just a waste of my day....
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UTopiapeach --Queen of the Aztecs..)
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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[Nybar's note on utopiapeach battle: utopiapeach is, clearly, an idiot.
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These days, this is very excusable; but not when the idiot is trying to
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rep for intellect. When I called her out for battle, I was clearly
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kidding, but she met it with the same inflexible, egocentric attitude she
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apparently has towards everything. So I'll say this: Utopiapeach hides
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under the aegis of the "poet/spoken word" title because, when judged by
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the same criteria as real MCs, her rhymes would look pathetic. Just as
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pathetic as they are. She comes up with stupid concepts which are
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guaranteed to have dickriders cooing and then writes pathetic non-rhymes
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on them--"there's a thing called a brain, and a thing called a mind, but
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I'm nearly out of time". Point: what the fuck is a "fallisie"?]
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sole possessor, controller of a hip-hop tome / king on the mic, do you
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see the crown on my dome? / i be the epitome of mc positivity /
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heuristics, linguistics--you know you've got to get with me / mcs who
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come with wisdom are usually pedantic / not me--i build a kingdom from
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ill semantics / syntactically this mc will fuck up your working memory /
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that's the penalty for not kicking styles from the free / hit me with
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your rawest battle rhyme, i'll rattle your prefrontal cortex / i battle
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with waves called sine, causing a mental vortex / and who gives a shit if
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you throw more hex? / i'm immune to flows like i was coated in gore-tex /
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water-proof, like i was a fish with gills / living in an ocean of flows,
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taking super-MC pills / i'll say sorry to your mother, but your life i
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could not save / another pussy mc smothered by a lyrical wave
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yo, caught up in modern machine / once i saw my visage on the TV screen /
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just a shadow, this MC has no identity / neurons like AC when in the
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mirror there's an enemy / held dearer than a friend / getting nearer to
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the end, so lookin' back / i had a thirst for rap, so i had to appease it
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/ now my flows are on tap, but cats are amnesic / can't remember a star
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when it becomes a sun / even sleeping on the god, KRS-ONE / i've seen
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twenty to life just for smoking cess / but there's always plenty of
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strife from the I-R-S / Ignorance Reigns Supreme, and you can be sure /
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this is a government agency, not a metaphor / but in metaform and
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reality, it's just a skin for sheddin' / because only the 'I' will burn
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in the real armageddon
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rappers got me sleeping like my pineal gland / i kick mad flavor even
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when i'm trying to be bland / i'm inescapable, like your old aunt's
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kisses / got MCs slaving, doing my fucking dishes / and the sink is full,
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from last night's feast / 20 MCs to feed me, Nybar the mic-beast / so
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wake the fuck up, do you hear me kid? / do _you_ want to be added to my
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food pyramid? / i've already gotta eat fifty rappers a day / just to keep
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up with my RDA / see, i stick to a strict dope-MC diet / while you've got
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a brain, but you don't apply it / battle me on stage, i'll suck your
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juice with a straw / freestyle from off the tip, eat you with gaping maw
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/ MCs aren't people to me, word, just nutrition / i'm like tweety bird,
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with all the cats i sent to perdition / now i see why you're tired, you
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want to die in your sleep / i grant this desire, plus a funeral that's
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cheap
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[a note to the ughh kids: I'd like to say that theory is completely full
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of shit. "Read this, I'm about to commit suicide, maybe my last post"--go
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ahead and kill yourself, kid. You're not a bad MC, but the bullshit has
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got to cease. I'd also like to say that cite 3's erudite posturing is
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bullshit. "Deuteronomy quoting", yeah, whatever. "epistemology"--there's
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a distinction between dropping wisdom and being needlessly didactic--cite
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3 often sacrifices substance and flow for verbiage.]
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[fuck it, you're all wack]: there was _madness_ in a recent _opus_ that i
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read / so i'll post this response, straight off the head / hip-hop
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battles are won by who's the sickest / not over the internet, by who can
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type quickest / so check yourself, observe proper decorum / and stop
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trying to battle over an online forum / if you want to get a rep, then
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represent day and night / don't call out vets for some rhyming fight /
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especially when you can't hang, like a monkey with no arms / the way vets
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speak slang, will make you a flunky with no qualms / now, i'm not trying
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to give off the wrong radiation / if you want a flex, we can compare
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syncopation / still, i dare-say that me and you two are in the same class
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/ battle with the vets and you'll get dropped on your ass
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Nybar, what is its definition? / Nybar is the man coming in the right
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position / or angle, in order to strangle / the hip-hop messageboards /
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with barb-wired mic-cords / with a new rhymin' wizard, comes a new
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mc-question / who will make the first collabo suggestion? / comin' up is
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vet, "let's have a lyrical flex" / well, i'm not tryin' to vex / so i'll
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throw hex, spark a fucking party / let loose rhymes to fuck up everybody
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/ my rhymes are ill, they brook no critique / like the god, except with
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twice the technique / more sounds then a human's throat / now
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messageboards headz hoppin' into the new boat / or gravy-train, while i
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bravely-rain[reign] down on your ass / get out your notebook, this is
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your class / on with whom to share your flows / or if you wanna flex,
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lyrical blows / now, nybarius@hotmail.com is my online home / holed up
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there, like David the Gnome / livin' on carrots and wack MCs / let J.
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Edgar Hoover know "you couldn't fuck wit ma steez" / I knew y'all wanted
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to e-mail me when i saw / The responses to mah flows from when you viewed
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em all / I hit you fast like a weed headrush / ressurected by skulls that
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i dead crush / fuck that, i come with lyrical precision / that's why you
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made the collabo decision / yo, texas motherfuckers ain't like mah form /
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i rip fat shit like i was that cheers-motherfucker Norm / droppin' the
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bomb, like napalm from vietnam / choppin' Nixon down with disregard for
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the law / kill any msgboard with one meta-phaw / yo, if you battle me,
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you're nothing but a dunce / because this MC will do 4 things at once: /
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graf with mah toes, blunt-smokin' wit mah hands / also kickin' flows,
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wake up those sleepin' like a sand / man, and i'm extra water / put you
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in the wrong like a man, fuckin' his daughter / comin' smarter--more
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intelligent / what this means is your rhyme is irrelevant / it doesn't
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matter, anti / to thee, i'm the topical MC / with the NYC styles, spill
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on the net / collab with this, and you're getting respect / only 4 posts,
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and i still get respected / shit, i must have bee n ressurected / and for
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sure, i most have had mad karma / nirvana; schoolin' wack rappers is mah
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dharma / in closing, let me peace to mohammud the prophet / my man, who
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was never afraid to _rock shit_
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why front like you're hard when you're clearly not? / i'll eat you like
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pacman after catching a dot / you can't do shit, like a castrated
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coprophiliac / kicking wack flows, yo i ain't feelin' that / i rip shit
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like the CIA under investigation / give birth to sounds that cause
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girl-titty lactation / your ketamine style has the effect of lyrical
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anathesia / basically, this means that i'm just not feelin' ya / i'm
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sorry, but most of the new ish on this board is wack / i kick flavors
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that turn cats into insomniacs / who couldn't sleep even holdin' down 12
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bottles of valium / my flows are so ill, you'd never guess i'm
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freestylin' em / don't even step to my lyrical web / the spider is in,
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fly niggas'll be dead
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i'm sorry to say that in mental skills you lag / i'll re-arrange your
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neurons like i was defrag / but even running optimal you're all "bite"
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and no bark / around your best lines i see a quotation mark / go ahead
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and lock your doors, i walk through any boundary or obstacle/ i pump
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rhymes like a foundary, and i keep it topical / once i was poor, so to
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make a little money / i donated my brain to scientific study / soon my
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species and genus were much debated / no one could figure out where this
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MC originated / finally, a PET scan brought out the fact / my brain is an
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alien rap artifact / a deadly weapon, so they tried to kill me / i was
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forced to destroy the whole fucking facility / "red alert", said the
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alarm, as i evacuated / i saw the test-results and realized my life was
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elongated / specifically, this mc will live to infinity / so i mean i'm
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laughing when i say "you're killin' me" / and when it's my turn to laugh,
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then it's your turn to cry / because with one verse i could cause you to
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die / R.I.P when i put another r.apper i.n p.ain / V.I.P., and MC Nybar
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is my name
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number one keystyle / brings a smile to my face / as i reflect on mcs
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that've been left in disgrace / like supernat, when he battled craig g /
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i'll incinerate the whole indust-ry / make it incendiary, inflammatory
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just like the arsonists / if you're not a pyromaniac you'd better stay
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far from this / and if you like fire like your name was Nero / i'll chill
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it out until it's absolute zero / suckers can't rhyme when all matter
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stops / fuckers, on time i'm still droppin' real hip-hop / tactics and
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strategies, reality's machinations / you can't face me down, there's no
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face to be facin' / i'm faceless, lyrically polymorphic / rocking de la
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soul simultaneous with hard-core shit / and still, in the mental temple
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of hiphop i genuflect / your heart stops if you fail to show the same
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respect.
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[--------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #925 - WRITTEN BY: NYBAR - 12/01/99 ]
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