Crispy (192) lyrics

V1: (180 BPM)

YES! You are now rocking with the brother that can bend space and time over the bass with rhymes
So no mistakes, you better go with the pace or die
Tone is the name - if you don’t know it, then 'que sera'
Go head and take a shot, You’re a disgrace!
I’m not following them bricks, it's like you're showing the way to Oz!
So they complain cause I got em holding my weight at the bottom
Knowing they ain’t gonna bother to - face off
Brace to brawl, I’ve had enough of the safe talk
You’re ass backwards, throwing a bat at a baseball
I hate when they call me a fast rapper
Shame on you hate mongers heaping the praise on them fake frauds
They’re claiming their favorites have got a gain on me, bating me often
But I’m remaining calm in a state of elated dominance
Aiming to body em, making a moniker
Taking them down by the way that the audience savors every sound to be like "Damn! y’all hear what I just did?"
There ain’t no mothaf*cka that be spitting it this quick
Living or dead, hit em in the head when they listen
Give ‘em a sec, It’s a bit depressing they missed it
This kid, flips it the best, with minimal breaths
And lyrical depth. said with a crispness
Typical vengeful n*ggas reject that I’m swifter than them
And I’m willing to bet if you listen back: it’s sh*t
Critics is inconsistent
Hypocritical idiots with no business
Giving anyone lip when they’re just some dimwits
Stay defending a prick like a b*tch that’s di*k-whipped
Vicious with this gift, No gimmicks
Rhythmic with a twist, and I’ll never tame this flow
Cause brains implode from the name alone, So yo
You might wanna take it slow
V2: (180 BPM)
Let’s step it up! At a minimum
Tell me I’m the best in the bunch, and admit it, cuz
You don’t wanna test with the level that I spit from
Puppeteer snares, get Gepetto with a kick drum
n*ggas ain’t impressed with the fluff that you givin ‘em
Beat 'em in the head with a punch, and a billy club
Either you caressing your guns or obsessed with your dunks
If you quest for the funk, then Tonedeff is the one
With the sets you can trust
And you better believe it cause I’m an excellent judge
Making records appealing and big events with a buzz
And you’ll never compete cause you’re too slow - prolly couldn't make a dent with bus
On a benz from the front
Threaten me once and I’ll make a mess of your gums Crest shouldn’t touch
Shoulda kept it on the HUSH-HUSH
You're too stupid and let it run… now you’re dead up in a dump truck
So jet when the tension combusts
And don’t mumble under your breath, I put a set of vents in your lungs
Cause eventually, envious chumps will attempt to assess that there’s
Special effects when I strum
But NO! There's no illusion to what’s happening
I’m actually rapping this with ravenous tenacity
Go back and read the fact I be the baddest if we can't agree
That ain’t a motherf*cker as fast mathematically
YO! I don’t wanna step on any toes
But the winning flow’s infinitely Tone's
And if we zone into the prose, how it’s written and composed
Ain’t nobody with a quotable as dope that they wrote –
And SO! I am not a one-trick pony show
Exposed when the drums get slow
With a twist a' the throat, Busta~bout N9ne techs at your dome
Singin while the thugs sift through the bones!
No Shots! Respect due!
Listen, these are the rules of the game:
Clean Syllables
No Syllables
No Gibberish
Rhythm
And most importantly motherf*ckers, I wanna see you do it live

[Verse 3] (Repeat of Verse 1 @ 192 BPM)
YES! You are now rocking with the brother that can bend space and time over the bass with rhymes
So no mistakes, you better go with the pace or die
Tone is the name - if you don’t know it, then 'que sera'
Go head and take a shot, You’re a disgrace!
I’m not following them bricks, it's like you're showing the way to Oz!
So they complain cause I got em holding my weight at the bottom
Knowing they ain’t gonna bother to - face off
Brace to brawl, I’ve had enough of the safe talk
You’re ass backwards, throwing a bat at a baseball
I hate when they call me a fast rapper
Shame on you hate mongers heaping the praise on them fake frauds
They’re claiming their favorites have got a gain on me, bating me often
But I’m remaining calm in a state of elated dominance
Aiming to body em, making a moniker
Taking them down in the way that the audience savors every sound to be like "Damn! y’all hear what I just did?"
There ain’t no muff*cka that be spitting it this quick
Living or dead, hit em in the head when they listen
Give ‘em a sec, It’s a bit depressing they missed it
This kid, flips it the best, with minimal breaths
And lyrical depth, said with a crispness
Typical b*tch rappers are claiming they're swifter than tone, but I bet upon playback: it’s sh*t
Critics is inconsistent
Hypocritical idiots with no business
Giving anyone lip when they’re just some dimwits
Stay defending a prick like a b*tch that’s di*k-whipped
Vicious with this gift, No gimmicks
Rhythmic with a twist, and I’ll never tame this flow
Cause brains implode from the name alone, So yo
You might wanna take it slow