Information on the RapperEdit
Listen up, you worthless sack of protoplasm; here's the deal:
I've utter faith that I'll one-up you, and go platinum for real!
You're an evasive little pussy; I'm a doer, dropping bombs:
I'll whoop your ass a hundred times worse than that bitch you call your mom!
The Triple-K Grand Wizard's here to stick a thousand truths to y'all;
Imagining won't be required to make you suck my salty balls!
Just ask Saddam Hussein: my shocking words are verbal PK Thunder!
Come on down to South Park? You're gonna have a bad time, Mother-fucker!
That verse stunk worse than Eagleland's advertisements for your game;
Methinks the lines lost something in translation, kind of like your name!
This ain't your sanctuary, Pokey, and you'd best start running home,
'Cause pissing me off's poorly-thought-out as the schemes of undie-gnomes!
I HAVE FUCKING HAD IT WITH YOUR SHIT! Cartman means business, buddy:
I'll make you crap in your pants, and not as fear's byproduct, either,
Grind and cook your body up, á la Shakespeare at his most bloody,
And feed you to your own brother; I hear he's no Picky eater.
EarthBound? Trust me: you'd be HellBound, even if you were a Mormon;
You'll be finished by the count of Onett, Twoson, Threed, you whoreson!
I'm school's bottom-one-percent, but first in lyric-busting class,
So take your disses, make like Mr. Slave, and shove them up your ass!
I take back that "whoreson" line; I really meant: Streisand-begotten!
Man, I'll make a jackass of you swiftly as I did Bin Laden.
You seem pretty rich; your neighbors owe your folks a pretty penny,
But as rhyming skills go, your worth's pretty much on par with Kenny's!
Rats; that was inexplicable.
Your death, though, will be no shock; they'll say:
You'll stop right in your tracks, but not to pose saying "fuzzy pickles",
Once my insults blow up in your face like bottle rocket missiles!
Well, I'll tear into you 'til you can't stop crying bloody murder,
Then get drunk upon your tears as if my name was Mason Verger.
Go pig out on some fly honey, barf-head, 'cause it's plain to see
That I could beat you with one hand behind my back; J. Lo agrees!
Oh, don't you try to exit-stage-left on me, coward; I've got more to say:
This battle won't be done 'til all respect my rap-authority!
My win can't wait, and so into deep-freezing I retire,
Chilling out for now, but come my waking, I'll be spitting fire…
…And, like Buck Rogers, the Time Child emerges from his frigid capsule To engage his rival once more; now, where is that little rascal?
Ah, you're right in front of me; get ready for round 2.0, Because I'm back to- …holy David Blaine, have you let yourself go!
How can you call this a utopia?! There's too many damn minorities;
You're King of Nowhere: how's that for a title of authority? There'll be no safety from the PK Hate I'm launching at you:
Bomb-ass lyrics sick enough to topple even your wack statue!
Get up out of bed and fight me; you look like you're from Akira, But I needn't follow suit and be a blob to fuck your rear up!
With or without godless otters, I bust triple-A-grade verses;
Your delivery's as mechanical as your robot-selves: nerveless!
I'll strike you in combos to these beats; unravel master plans!
You won't get far with me; your game couldn't even travel past Japan,
And I'll downsize you like its move from 64 to GBA
With words so Negative, they'll leave self-pitying ones all you can say!
Ha; Guess I didn't need Cthulhu to leave you in dark oblivion!
Hell, I'd take Ensenada over what you'll now be living in, And hence, our duel concludes: I stand victorious; you're boned,
'Cause you just screwed yourself for good, and on that note, I'm going home…
…Wait a minute, my home doesn't exist anymore, and everyone I've ever known has been dead for centuries…
…AW, MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN COC-