Post by Dru Tha Merc on Apr 9, 2011 4:42:39 GMT -5
(You know I love you guys, so as always, take no offense.)
I am too defined,
And a nigga’s too defined.
The Kingdom is fallin’
Nero is callin’,
And all together,
Whenever, wherever,
Pride no longer ballin’
Shit ain’t Sterling or Noble,
we ain’t gonna go Global,
Pride’s gonna fold, all.
Two things I dream,
To win and succeed,
Nothing I can do,
Like Drago v.s. Creed.
Hold ‘em all,
Hold ‘em tall,
Bring the brawl,
Who got the gall?
Dru Tha Merc comin’,
Phoenix ain’t runnin’,
Johnny Noble be puntin’,
Obscene be gunnin’
Pitbull ain’t done in,
All to the days,
And all so many ways,
Heroic team is dead like delivery,
We squad like F-Troop on the revelry.
I am so G, I’m worth a cool thousand,
Don’t call me Dru Tha Merc,
Call me Dru Tha Godsend.
Gonna put a whoop-ass to every nigga and his mom,
Pretend I’m Domo-Kun, gonna put it like the “Nom nom”.
Change my style so quick, thought I was a chameleon,
Call you a fake Jay-Z ‘cause you thought you was real, young?
So damn gutter, I thought I was down in it,
That’s a cut, show’s over, now it’s time to print it.
…Now wait.
Let ya boy Dru Tha Merc tear it up for a second.
Ain’t no words to put on how I’m about to put it.
…
Eddie Nash, set it up, your name I impore,
Your name reminds me of Guile from Street Fighter 4.
Who are you to be rockin’ by songs by Probot,
Need to get off that bitch son, like you ain’t sure she too hot.
You respectable nigga enough to smoke, head to toes
But get off Eagles’s dick like Flair and low blows.
Ride on you bike, drive through South Tampa,
Gonna get a drop on you, like elbow drops & the ladder.
Stephen Callaway, the man who has all angles,
I’ll split you, kill you between that ass and them ankles,
I have no love for you, barely know who you are,
But you be an enemy so that gets you so far,
Who are you to be on a team up to par,
When you ain’t had a push since 19-90-gah?
And I forgot your name, can’t you even tell,
That’s the last time I mention you….
No seriously nigga, I am so not gonna mention you,
I ain’t even got to rhyme.
Fuck you, fuck your family, fuck the place you call home,
And fuck everything you ever been.
Kid Flanagan, the one opponent I can’t touch,
And yet who cares about the champ that gets stomped like mulch.
Ain’t no Legion of Doom, no “Aah, what a rush!”
It’s like a fight at sun-up, the showdown at Deadman’s Gulch.
Can’t feel sorry for you kid, you fight like a gun,
I got ninety-EIGHT problems, a Flanagan ain’t one.
None of my tag partners even gonna deal,
Only got that title ‘cause Jeremy and Kurt feel,
Bad to the bone, Dru Tha Merc do it,
Kid Flanagan loves the dick, got stretch marks to prove it.
No dedication, much reiteration, ya team knows how to pick ‘em.
Kid Flanagan has the work ethic of an OCD Burn Victim.
Who’s Eric Valor? Not Harvey Dent for sure,
You’re the Gucci Mane of your squad, man (Brrr!)
Eric Valor, a carbon killer copy off, no doubt,
And what fuckhead was the man who was your talent scout?
Valor for Pride, a nigga thinks not,
As far as I’m concerned, a nigga feels you can rot.
One question I have to ask, don’t feel insulted “Peddles”,
But who the fuck are you, what you did with Ryan Reynolds?
I’ll make this verse short, you don’t deserve the word,
You’re just like cottage cheese, you can’t cut the curd.
Josh Eagles, remember me, number one liability,
And it will be, my undisputed ability,
To tear into you, like no rapper before,
I have for you, what’s about to be in store,
A rap verse longer than your title reign,
You have so many losses, and about one gain.
You have gold in the pocket, but nothing in the hand,
Here Dru Tha Merc draws his line in the sand,
Here comes you and me in Battle of the Band,
Me Indian, you White man, battle over the land,
I’m a thousand, you a zero, I’m worth a damn grand.
I’m Atlas, you shrugged, out like Ayn Rand.
The Eagle shall sore, flyin’ like airplanes,
And yet the paper champ don’t gain like terrible rains.
…Welcome to the final rap song of Dru Tha Merc.
You are now manually breathing.
Stephen, Josh, Eric, Eddie, and Flanagan…
You’ve now been manually beaten.
I am too defined,
And a nigga’s too defined.
The Kingdom is fallin’
Nero is callin’,
And all together,
Whenever, wherever,
Pride no longer ballin’
Shit ain’t Sterling or Noble,
we ain’t gonna go Global,
Pride’s gonna fold, all.
Two things I dream,
To win and succeed,
Nothing I can do,
Like Drago v.s. Creed.
Hold ‘em all,
Hold ‘em tall,
Bring the brawl,
Who got the gall?
Dru Tha Merc comin’,
Phoenix ain’t runnin’,
Johnny Noble be puntin’,
Obscene be gunnin’
Pitbull ain’t done in,
All to the days,
And all so many ways,
Heroic team is dead like delivery,
We squad like F-Troop on the revelry.
I am so G, I’m worth a cool thousand,
Don’t call me Dru Tha Merc,
Call me Dru Tha Godsend.
Gonna put a whoop-ass to every nigga and his mom,
Pretend I’m Domo-Kun, gonna put it like the “Nom nom”.
Change my style so quick, thought I was a chameleon,
Call you a fake Jay-Z ‘cause you thought you was real, young?
So damn gutter, I thought I was down in it,
That’s a cut, show’s over, now it’s time to print it.
…Now wait.
Let ya boy Dru Tha Merc tear it up for a second.
Ain’t no words to put on how I’m about to put it.
…
Eddie Nash, set it up, your name I impore,
Your name reminds me of Guile from Street Fighter 4.
Who are you to be rockin’ by songs by Probot,
Need to get off that bitch son, like you ain’t sure she too hot.
You respectable nigga enough to smoke, head to toes
But get off Eagles’s dick like Flair and low blows.
Ride on you bike, drive through South Tampa,
Gonna get a drop on you, like elbow drops & the ladder.
Stephen Callaway, the man who has all angles,
I’ll split you, kill you between that ass and them ankles,
I have no love for you, barely know who you are,
But you be an enemy so that gets you so far,
Who are you to be on a team up to par,
When you ain’t had a push since 19-90-gah?
And I forgot your name, can’t you even tell,
That’s the last time I mention you….
No seriously nigga, I am so not gonna mention you,
I ain’t even got to rhyme.
Fuck you, fuck your family, fuck the place you call home,
And fuck everything you ever been.
Kid Flanagan, the one opponent I can’t touch,
And yet who cares about the champ that gets stomped like mulch.
Ain’t no Legion of Doom, no “Aah, what a rush!”
It’s like a fight at sun-up, the showdown at Deadman’s Gulch.
Can’t feel sorry for you kid, you fight like a gun,
I got ninety-EIGHT problems, a Flanagan ain’t one.
None of my tag partners even gonna deal,
Only got that title ‘cause Jeremy and Kurt feel,
Bad to the bone, Dru Tha Merc do it,
Kid Flanagan loves the dick, got stretch marks to prove it.
No dedication, much reiteration, ya team knows how to pick ‘em.
Kid Flanagan has the work ethic of an OCD Burn Victim.
Who’s Eric Valor? Not Harvey Dent for sure,
You’re the Gucci Mane of your squad, man (Brrr!)
Eric Valor, a carbon killer copy off, no doubt,
And what fuckhead was the man who was your talent scout?
Valor for Pride, a nigga thinks not,
As far as I’m concerned, a nigga feels you can rot.
One question I have to ask, don’t feel insulted “Peddles”,
But who the fuck are you, what you did with Ryan Reynolds?
I’ll make this verse short, you don’t deserve the word,
You’re just like cottage cheese, you can’t cut the curd.
Josh Eagles, remember me, number one liability,
And it will be, my undisputed ability,
To tear into you, like no rapper before,
I have for you, what’s about to be in store,
A rap verse longer than your title reign,
You have so many losses, and about one gain.
You have gold in the pocket, but nothing in the hand,
Here Dru Tha Merc draws his line in the sand,
Here comes you and me in Battle of the Band,
Me Indian, you White man, battle over the land,
I’m a thousand, you a zero, I’m worth a damn grand.
I’m Atlas, you shrugged, out like Ayn Rand.
The Eagle shall sore, flyin’ like airplanes,
And yet the paper champ don’t gain like terrible rains.
…Welcome to the final rap song of Dru Tha Merc.
You are now manually breathing.
Stephen, Josh, Eric, Eddie, and Flanagan…
You’ve now been manually beaten.
