Crispy (192)

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 faster 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 muffucka 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 niggas reject that I'm swifter than them And I'm willing to bet if you listen back: it's SHIT. Critics is inconsistent Hypocritical idiots with no business Giving anyone lip when they're just some dimwits Stay defending a prick like a bitch that's dick-whipped Viscious 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/ Niggas 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/ But you 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 is no illusion to what's happening/ I'm actually rapping this with ravenous tenacity/ Go back and read the fact I bet the baddest if we can't agree, That ain't a motherfucker as fast mathematically YO! I don't wanna step on any toes/ But the winning flow's infinitely Tone's And if we zone in to 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, bust about nine techs at your dome/ Singin while the thugz sift through the bones! V1 (ALT) @ 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 Breaking 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 muffucka 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 bitch rappers are claiming they're swifter than tone, but I bet upon playback: it's SHIT. Critics is inconsistent Hypocritical idiots with no business Giving anyone lip when they're just some dimwits Stay defending a prick like a bitch that's dick-whipped Viscious 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.