Book of Rhymes — Verse 2
Scored May 17, 2026
0.0
Shady ScoreC+
Annotated lyrics
Haven't used all the tricks I have, so like my balls, it's in my bag
I tend to get a little testy when I'm mad
But gift of gab and pen to pad turn temper tantrums into anthems
Put lips to ass and kiss the cracks, spit your damnedest
You're still gonna hit the canvas
Rippin' rappers, veterans to whippersnappers
Mr. Mathers is killin' this shit, villainous wit with scant less
Syllables rip the planet, biblical shit's finna hit the fan
Anybody wanna go tit for tat's gonna get hit with that
Then the amygdala hippocampus is gonna trigger the ignoramus
To think of the most ridiculous shit to spit then
Pit it against these pitiful rappers
Insidious, these idiots wittiest shit against me shitty as MC Hammer's
Get your whole squad, send a task force in
If you want it, you're 'bout to get what you asked for then
Put your helmet on, strap your chin
You're 'bout to get you a crash course in
Who not to start a motherfuckin' rap war with
Or to go against, fuck would you wanna do that for?
No offense, but are you retards slow or dense?
A fuckin' penny has more sense
Yeah, now you gotta get killed, but it's not a big deal, but every thought is so ill
And so methodical, thought I swallowed a pill
I'm starting to feel like I'm an automobile
With Barnacle Bill inside the car at the wheel
Inside a carnival, 'cause I'm plowin' into everyone who wrote snidey articles
And that explains why the fuck you clowns are all in my grill
Joy and pain, fortune, fame, torture, shame, choice I made
Swore someday the world would pay less to lose, more to gain, daughters raised
Yesterday, glory days, adored and praised, ignored the hate
Addressed the fake, toured with Dre, tore a page from Jordan came
Destroyed the game before you came, enjoy your stay
Before it's gone away, but the more you claim that you're gonna point and aim
If it joined a gang, your shit isn't going to bang
You're just boring, lame and more of the same
You have an enormous chain, but a stormless brain
The most you can form is rain
Your shit is pointless, same as a scoreless game
So, bitch, quit lyin', you're denyin' like Mr. Porter's name (Haha)
Borderline bipolar disorder since my stroller
Eyes rollin' back in my skull like Eli Porter
Fire mortar (Brr) rounds, Ayatollah, every iota I load up
I owe to my motor mouth
This is my note to self
Sometimes you're gonna bomb
So you just might have to blow yourself up with no one's help
I just wrote it down in my book of rhymes
Preemo, take us out
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