Debate Rounds (4)
You've thrown down the gauntlet,
I'll pick it up and jack-off into it, (YEAH!)
Slap you with the back end and hold you down as I spit this sh|t.
You call yourself "Cataclysm"? please, you're just a cataclit (Doesn't need to make sense, dawg!)
a Catapiller not out your caccoon just yet, scared a bit?
You're 17, dude, why the hell you trying to battle a man?
You've spent less time writing than you have trying to impregnate your hand! (BIOLOGY!)
And yeah, you could point out by now that all my verses don't scan,
But I don't need them to in order to dominate this land.
Now it's your turn to step up to this mic,
After a pause to get the training wheels off of your trike (FIVE WHEELS!)
In a pair of acid wash, bumpin' Asher Roth!
You don't know what you stepped into
One verse can break you from within you
You can't stop me. Don't know What I've been through
I'm getting started now, you wish to continue?
I get fully loaded like the bullet slipped into the clip,
And clipped into the pistol grip, fit into my fist
Ready to fire at you, "a man", is that true?
And yes, I spend less time writing 'cause I freestyle,
Even pre-written, you rap like a weak child.
And don tell me how I procrastinate.
After all, it's you talking about how you masturbate.
I've got my girl, don't need my right hand.
And my verse it perfect, don't need a hype man!!
You rap about cocoons and butterflies.
Step aside, I'll battle the other guy.
I've been done with you since round one,
Want a battle? You've found one.
You must be blasting off, 'cause you're in outer space,
you stepping to me's like an AK against Mace,
Those jeans sound real cute, you care so much about fashion,
You're like a new recruit, gettin' sick off these rations,
of rhymes that are just too much for your guts,
you're a lot like Asher Roth, you both lack nuts.
Don't know what i stepped in? It thinks it's the Sh|t
But your rhymes lack the "the" that's the end of it.
One verse can break me inside me? That's some metaphysical crap,
You should spend less time in Kant's C*nt, and more on your rap.
I can't stop you now because you haven't even started,
Take Robert Downy Junior's advice son, Never go full retarded.
I believe you're fully loaded, you sound like you've had more than a few,
I know after the voting, you'll see that you're screwed.
You make loading a pistol sound so complicated,
You'd shoot your own balls off, if you weren't already castrated.
And I don't know if I'm a man, but your mom seems to think so,
She wrote me this next line, "God, my son blows."
How can I not free-style? I'm answering your every line,
If this was pre-written you'd see the divine,
and yeah, I always masturbate when I see a pu$$y on the internet,
I saw one in round 1, guess who that was yet?
It doesn't count if your name your hand your "girl",
it's still just your organ around which your fingers are curled.
I rapped about soft things, because you're my subject matter,
I'll let you step on, you're scared, pee is splattered,
down the legs of your pretty little acid-washed jeans,
You're battle is empty rage, I'm the machine.
I'm passing this mic back, 'cause unlike you I'm polite,
Try to use words that make sense, and rhymes that are tight.
That's a step too far though, since she resides in heaven.
Passed on when I was six, you prick. Left a whole that I can't fix,
Now I clench my fist. My sick tricks will twist your wrist,
I'm pissed! Put away your dick. You tried to insult me, you missed.
Yes, I'm in outer space, so close, think about a place
Far away from here, nowhere near you or you pouting face.
I know I'm destined to be the best, dude.
No thanks to my dad, he fuckin left to.
With nothing to lose, I choose to confuse you
With words to abuse you, leave clues to amuse you,
While I fuse true lines, about you like it's no news that you like dudes
You want to fight me? I'll grip the mic tightly, smile with white teeth,
You might see reasons why I'm not asking politely, I write these
In my mind then I ignite trees by speaking, why am I battling spike lee?
You think I'm crazy, but I ain't, I'll tell you this basically
Face it, it's too late to see that you hating me is fake it seems.
Since you just said when you see me, you pleasure yourself.
Deny that if it helps.. is that a picture of me on your shelf!?
You answered my lines, but then just stopped.
Like you blocked a few punches before you got dropped.
Pass the Mic back? I don't need your pitty. Out of my vicinity,
You're my enemy, may be a fan of me, but you won't win it seems.
I'm on the right mission, you can't light my ignition
Or fight my ambition, this is me being polite, not dissin'
So put down your dusty rap sheet, and take ten seconds to not fapp, please.
Look me dead in the eye, you can't hurt me I'm dead on the inside
My families gone. I can't fix that. Go ahead.. diss that.
I don't blame your dad for leaving, it probably made him sick,
watching the unfit bitch he married choke to death on my d|ck.
And you can go ahead and keep clenching those fists, bats, bricks, stones, kicks,
I take my licks like I was dipped in Styx.
You should learn to spell, dog, I don't meant to disrespect you,
but, "left to", "Pity", and "famillies" are all fucked up and confused,
You had some good rhymes in that last verse, I'm happy to concede,
but guess what? Once again, none of them were about me.
And tell me again, what lines did I drop?
I addressed every verb, noun and every weak flop.
I hope the voters are paying attention to these MC's,
I address your responses and you just go ME ME ME.
On the real though, I am sorry about your Mother,
I don't have a diss there, you'll never have another.
No wonder you have no hype man, your life story brings people down,
I wanted a fun battle, now it's all just frowns.
Still though, we're both men, and we stand on this battleground,
to hurl childish insults and put each other down.
It's not a battle rap if there isn't any battle,
I don't need your biography, medical records or prattle,
I don't need your sad attempts at mispelled rhymes,
I don't need your saliva, your bile or chyme.
And if you don't want my pity, don't get so depressing,
all your droning on shows is that inside your stressing
But you say you're dead in there, because you've been through hell,
After facing me in battle you'll be dead on the outside as well.
I'll tear off your thin skin,
put your bones on my sick rims,
pound your short, round a$$ to the ground,
just one of my victims,
Even my limericks are better than yours,
my rhymes are primal, yours are cold-stored.
I won't pass you the mic again, come take it from me,
You'll die deader than deaths own door key.
And if you want another battle after this, it's cool.
I've got a crew, two minutes, and a fly-swatter for you.
voxprojectus forfeited this round.
1 votes has been placed for this debate.
Vote Placed by doomswatter 2 years ago
|Agreed with before the debate:||-||-||0 points|
|Agreed with after the debate:||-||-||0 points|
|Who had better conduct:||-||-||1 point|
|Had better spelling and grammar:||-||-||1 point|
|Made more convincing arguments:||-||-||3 points|
|Used the most reliable sources:||-||-||2 points|
|Total points awarded:||4||0|
Reasons for voting decision: This was a decent battle, but my vote is for Pro because he had significantly more multis. Pro gets conduct because of Con's forfeit at the end.
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