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Who wants to collaborate w/ me? marquisdotroberts@gmail.com
God (The Recordion)
http://usershare.net/17ufwc1dw59d
I come from the level where gods rest
we seldomly quarrel- but we rise to the occasion like Loch Ness
Blowin hella chiba smokin in ether- the pot fresh
we got for now forever- no placement of spot next
the internetters know me as the infinite dot yes
the hyperlink that got the bloggers ditchin that pop shit
spit oowop in tongues- I load vocabulary
in the barrel- make yo earth wonder who shot the sun
vex the sacrilege- I go god w/ something spiritual
mic the powerhouse- w/ my soul as the peripherals
Good year control- I roll w/ my material
And blow through it like white owls on instrumentals yo
Lex Lugor whyllin at the hall of Justus
brainstorming evil teachin clark a lesson
I move w/ the burner, its John Storm w/ hell chains
and pentant stares- he vision burnholes in they frail brain
Prepare for an intimate destruction while I'm lovin on the beat
when I bust its like a sensual eruption__
as beautiful as rays of hope beamin through the cumulus
when we hold the chrome its like nothin you can do to us
Its birdflu in beatbox- givin jewels to numerous
Reparation flow- spittin bars is payin dues to us./
We give em the everlasting stimulus package
Son's get addicted to the system and blast it
We purge instrumentals and extort all the wackness
abort the mic fore I snatch the chord from a bastard
Stop inside the threshold- see four niggas active
as a california crip who was born as a panther
you peep me at my nicest- a swordsmith w/ daggers./
judgement in my spit w/ the scorn in the rapture
Its back to the blueprint of the criminal rap shit
in razor blade tongues- we 88 guns
Stand clear of the exhaust- I pull torch wetcha!/
I manage to ball through the full court pressure
I could floss through the first four recessions
cuz I'm a god and i spit w/ a verse forged from heaven./
I was hungry before but now the bread got me levened./
Level a nigga over that spread w/ a fed mac eleven./
That'll **** the scene clear soon a i tell em
Go Soulja Boi- that white gucci bandana becomes a red one./
Thinkin betta than yo niggas- I'm ahead one./
Spit that fire thats so vividly higher- I'mma flare gun./
How many niggas tell me crank that *****?-Nare one./
Cuz they know i keep that light and i been waitin to shed one./
I'm nice w/ the aim- generous w/ distance./
From a point blank range and i could spit it where you live it./
God (The Recordion)
http://usershare.net/17ufwc1dw59d
I come from the level where gods rest
we seldomly quarrel- but we rise to the occasion like Loch Ness
Blowin hella chiba smokin in ether- the pot fresh
we got for now forever- no placement of spot next
the internetters know me as the infinite dot yes
the hyperlink that got the bloggers ditchin that pop shit
spit oowop in tongues- I load vocabulary
in the barrel- make yo earth wonder who shot the sun
vex the sacrilege- I go god w/ something spiritual
mic the powerhouse- w/ my soul as the peripherals
Good year control- I roll w/ my material
And blow through it like white owls on instrumentals yo
Lex Lugor whyllin at the hall of Justus
brainstorming evil teachin clark a lesson
I move w/ the burner, its John Storm w/ hell chains
and pentant stares- he vision burnholes in they frail brain
Prepare for an intimate destruction while I'm lovin on the beat
when I bust its like a sensual eruption__
as beautiful as rays of hope beamin through the cumulus
when we hold the chrome its like nothin you can do to us
Its birdflu in beatbox- givin jewels to numerous
Reparation flow- spittin bars is payin dues to us./
We give em the everlasting stimulus package
Son's get addicted to the system and blast it
We purge instrumentals and extort all the wackness
abort the mic fore I snatch the chord from a bastard
Stop inside the threshold- see four niggas active
as a california crip who was born as a panther
you peep me at my nicest- a swordsmith w/ daggers./
judgement in my spit w/ the scorn in the rapture
Its back to the blueprint of the criminal rap shit
in razor blade tongues- we 88 guns
Stand clear of the exhaust- I pull torch wetcha!/
I manage to ball through the full court pressure
I could floss through the first four recessions
cuz I'm a god and i spit w/ a verse forged from heaven./
I was hungry before but now the bread got me levened./
Level a nigga over that spread w/ a fed mac eleven./
That'll **** the scene clear soon a i tell em
Go Soulja Boi- that white gucci bandana becomes a red one./
Thinkin betta than yo niggas- I'm ahead one./
Spit that fire thats so vividly higher- I'mma flare gun./
How many niggas tell me crank that *****?-Nare one./
Cuz they know i keep that light and i been waitin to shed one./
I'm nice w/ the aim- generous w/ distance./
From a point blank range and i could spit it where you live it./
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