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-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
My spit switches hotter than fine bitches with hip twitches....
ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
we get riches, on triple digits, dig it, my company so legit it's...ridic-u-lous when we visit. lyric for lyric my squadron spit that satiric ill shit, so feel this... but you fake bitches couldn't hear it, if I whispered the realness directly to your ears bitch and that's what the fuck the deal is.
S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
I'm like a pint of Guinness, Mayne, I'm fuckin' brilliant. My ism's tighter than ripe knife wounds with fresh stitches. I pick up what my brother pitched, yeah and fuckin' kill it; witness the Death of a Thousand Cuts, when my lips schism. I six-shot Billy-the-Kid-it, accurate and vicious, like Sweeney Todd with bionic scissors... no sanity, Tourettes and sick riddles. The scary shit is, my thought process is as lucid as my vision. My crew's all soul food - you fools is mic-griddles. We'll eat you up, and shit you out for shits and giggles. I slither through The City poppin' thizzles, no limits to how a soldier handles his business. The elevated mind-state of a fundamental Christian is some hairy shit to witness. I honor my dudes, and they honor my sickness. That your bitch could call me 'Papi,' is one of her wishes; she likes the way I shimmer like platinum dipped in charisma. I'll do you dirtier than dishes... like your step-daddy sellin' all the gifts you got for crack, at Christmas.
-Each1 Teach1-of Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
......as another years passed, and hella crews crashed, dippin mics in verbal acid till all thats lefts ash...till the last bowls cashed....leavin assholes smashed...doinit 4tha Laughter and to have the last laugh...the pummeling is humbling like fumbling with a handgrenade, listen as the grammar sprays, each and every entity standing in our way..its not a matter of if, more so a matter of when...direct connect from brain to tongue is still my best friend, i been moonlightin with my pen, my freestyles not mad, i treat her like a lady, like the best i ever had, but she aint got a dad, still my styles aint bothered, maurey checked the DNA and you ARE NOT THE FATHER...
ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
we laughin, blasted, dancing and smashin, in a circle of trust, passionate about my stuff, passin purple to puff, the actions of our forefathers before us, speak-with native tongues, the silver ones, they hear-the-word, call it a miracle, I just ain't that type of spiritual, I call it lyrical, shit to spear-at-you, with the real-and-true, to my lifted sons, recognitions, gifted visions, expressions, with my brethren, meeting of the minds, speakin within the lines of my rhymes...a session, you peasants, needn't speak cos you rhyme depression, matter of fact, don't even look in my direction... and as for me and mines, well... our-lines outline our-times out-on-the-grind, forever out-for-a-dime, act out-of-line,the outcome is fine, cos out-here out-come-the-nines, I'd rather make that a ten spot, knuckles for a head shot, give your nose red snot, from when you get your head knocked. brass fucking knuckles, smash something in a tussle, amass the muscle, like cash on the hustle, blast and it's trouble, it's in the bag, like a duffel, so you fags can get the double...fist in your shit... when I'm pissed and you get loose with the lips like a stupid bitch that talks too much shit and doesn't know when to quit, unless, it's with a mouthful of penis... properish term...for the dick.
S-A-double-V - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
They stand in line greedily, like flies on shit, moths to infernos, the imposters get licked... speedily. We addicted to this - too steadfast to quit, entrenched, enmired, in this... way of life - you're just part of the scenery. What do you mean to me? You're fecal matter on the tip o' my prick - a blasphemy. I extinguish thee, for revolting me, for makin' me sick. I'm cataclysmic with mine, and my brothers are quick... to drop coins on your orbits; you're just a kid with some tricks - a trend, a fad... I'll slap you wit' my sack and my swag, like a ton o' bricks... I don't boast or brag. I live my life on a different rung than a lad. I've got nothin' to prove - it's like a chieftain verse a eunuch. It's worth the investment at hand, to castrate you, you fag, make an example of you and turn you into a half of a man...
ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
fuck these subhuman neanderthals, with no influence from above, we keep it movin, back and forth like a tennis club. pass me that 40-love, swig it, got me sayin werd, shit it's just day'um cypher...when we be flippin verbs, so andy riddick-you-lers... serve'n words, fast and frickin furi-yers, givin them the slo-motion curves, so Wimbledon can sit and observes, cheers and shit for you and yers, match met...shit's fucking absurd, check the verse, fresh like the pair of white cross-train'ers, or that dime Sharapova in a mini-skirt, MMM mmm mmm... she makes me pervert, please 'scus this nerd, he's just trying to get some of her sponsors... for my benefit, but my friend it's, not about the tennis, but word-play is our tenet, pray to us with reverence, homage when I send this, sentence with the swiftness, of a night-stick in the hands of a white pig, fucking sick of all the shit he's witnessed within his 6, years working the fucking night-shift. I write this...life with, the might of the pen... fuck a sword, no reward, flashin forward, with the passion for, my fam, cash and board, jameson's on my dashboard, mashin towards, mountain tops, found the top, hear the sound when we drop, the powder on the ground is soft, so this run is bound to rock, then we lounge down at the lot, before we bounce the spot, we drown our thoughts, and here's a pound for my dog, yo that shit was hot... sequel coming soon to the Ta'
