Yay! Thanks! I was gonna post another one.... But I left to work. That one woulda been sick tho. I'll be making a channel on that video sharing website soon and post up songs I have recorded!
Of course I being the complex person I am made my conclusion rap and thats all I wanted. so fair winds to you all
Last One: My brain is full of chronic, My mind is fill of tension, My microphone progression Is like out of this dimension. Bringing heat like Smith and Wesson On these California streets. My ghetto fine latin grammar Perfects these blunt beats. My whole team is in here, All about stacking that green, Got more dope that could be measured on a triple beam. It's obscene, and quite a bit ab-surd. In the sound proof room, Straight, blowing on that herb. My mind seems to turn in different ways, I'm in a daze. Then I bust the type of shit the average rapper cant play. I just stay true skillz, My microphones get killed. I'm an assassin to lyrics, While bustin shit you can feel. I got that number one appeal, Like the Los Angeles Lakers. Serving heat to you fakers, While smoking across by the acres. You need to stop look at the facts, analyze and realize, I'm the one and only lyrical assassin on the rise. These phony rappers get banged on, like gangsters, all the same. You need to listen to my track titled "Stay out of the Game." These lyrics dropping pure uncut, like cocaine. I gave up serving on the streets, So now I've verbally slain. While pin point'n on my targets, Proving who's the hardest. Jopo is that artist,. Fools drop like bargains. And aint no drug that will stimulate, or make you great. Accept fate, rapping was your mistake. The youngest tightest latino fresh out that Golden State. Dropping tracks back to back, In a ridiculous pace. And never hesitate, To blow some smoke in your face. Drop a track to disrespect or pull a pistol from my waist. A lot of shit could be said, A lot of games could be played. But once it's over that's it. There aint no retry or say. So recognize the truth, Before your career is done. That I'm the lyrical assassin, There can only be one. Violence is ready to erupt, Like the streets of Iraq. I bring storms when I storm, And orchestrate an attack. I calculate that you're whack, And your equation's not equal to my skills, So I feel, that there's no room for a sequel; you're fucking done. I'm ending your chapter, bringing disaster. You're a fake, a fag. A poor excuse for a rapper. While I'm a master of words, Spitting these nouns and verbs. Drag your body in the streets, Make your ass bite the curb. And leave you there on display, For all the world to observe. You fuck with me, you gotta pay. Get dusted like Herb. Cuz this is lyrical warfare, and I'm a true soldier. I wont stop until the fucking Armageddon is over. You get the picture? Dont make me have to come and get this pinscher With an automatic 4, I'm causing static in that. So what is up forreal? You wanna trip, then bring it on. Cuz I'm the one and only lyrical assassin dropping bombs.