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Monday, May 25, 2009

The Q + L Sessions: 1st Entry

In any friendship, it is important that those people involved in it do their absolute best to not only support that friend but make them a better person by association. I think a lot of my friends do that. The friend I speak on now is a friend I have know since elementary-my boy Quinton (more commonly called The QZA). We both are blessed with lyrical skills and on occasion we bounce our words off of each other. The following is an example of that. Enjoy.

Call 'em straight like they was Gibraltar
No F- fails at the graded range falter
Artist make eardrum canvases to lyricist art them boys say
So if Q be the that make me Monet?
Or Moet splashing folk in bubbly bastard spit shit... Read More
Quality, no qualms make 'em quietly quick quit
Plantation pimps the Southern boys make slave of the beat
Muthafuckas on weak rap, I can't get jiggy with that sheet
Blast ballads on you mallards, duck quick when I mic check
Cook not Raekwon chef but I'll Inspectah your tape deck
Get to root of the lesser lines against the greater
So can emulate my Maino to shoot salutations to hater
Dig down deep to throw diamonds Delta at our dynasty
Alpha kids take Beta bitch blasters to take out every B
Chuckles on the red nosed, not Rudolph but them clowns
Nines, ones, and two take verses and lay all stunts down

Okay, Lu's Monet, on the leaning tower of Pisa
With a piece of clay
I'm downstairs spitting game to Lisa Bonet,
Thats US, I'm eating her A
Sounds like a stretch, I'm Treach, A Hip-Hop Hooray
They say we're some fake rappers
Get their heads deflated, renamed MC Souffle

The seventeenth letter boy Q be a clever Cleaver
Cool enough to Ward off Junes and any eager Beavers
If he Bonet, give Black that some Gilbert chick
VA born bourgeoisie met a Southern Joker’s pencil trick
Disappear, bone deep similar to how tandem offense cuts ya
Sluts ya, corner stalking looking Berry to feel good
Fake? We? Kill boy, Killroy on our domo
After massacre new masquerade caped and shaded like Proto (…man!!!)

My Gotham broham drop bows on Scarecrows
Bleeding straw out their stitches
Lyrics leave these lemurs leaking and twitching
Like Trey Lynah, the old Geechie homie
We eat golden ravioli off gray China plate
Peachy poems to screech the Terrordome, blueprint paper planes
Caught in my weather veins
Sever lanes to destruction with tethered domes
And electric dame forever doting
Ever the texture's tame, that's the aim, quote me
White pepper soldier
Stay grungy taking baking soda baths
Chicks out here hard as fuck, the boulder graspers, A rhythmic tick
Miss Fingerwood of the Hood, do the math

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