freestylers

[Little Boy]

You might see me walkin down the street
Sellin sacks that are not skeet
YES I hulstle and I flow
and Sell anything for do
if you listen to my rap
you surely won't nap
my beats are too sweet
under my sheets or on my feet
always fuckin hot hoez
tearing off there clothez
rollin down foty fo
I get out den shut my do
freestyle is my way
yes I blow so much yay
Smoke foty jays a day
fuck bitches without pay
yes her twat is in my face
her tits are in their place
****** is de best race
rockin' 12 inch cocks
wearing million dollar rocks
got a hundred pairs of socks
if you come please just knock
no need to even lock
bustin up gangs all day
bangin thangs all day
from dust until dawn
'till I need to cut my lawn
yes it always goes on
oh look now the shows gone
***** you too late
death will be yo fate
once I get through wit you
cut a ***** hoe back 'till he try and sue
OH I play the game my way

[Little Boy]

my dick is so hard that you might mistake it fo clay HEY
You hear what I say?
it's cool if you gay
or even if you go both ways
You are welcome to stay
for a small amount of pay
couples stoppin by here
smokin' and drinkin beer
Even ones wit ever clear
"till the point of no return
when will a hoe learn
to not fuck wit me
I bust a nut then pee
you see?
don't mess with wit me p
if so you better flee
cuz I be poppin at yo b
drop you in the sea
or we could talk over a cup of tea

[Masta Mynd]

people, dont sleep on mines... mines that fire.

[Masta Mynd]

Put me on a tape-track, Ill spit straight crack/
and pile bricks up, till im makin like eight-stacks/
so how do you take-that? you know that your fake-jack/
fuck leanin and rockin, the pump will make you fall straight-back/
comparin, you to me, is like a dime-to-a-brick/
they say im stinky as fuck because i rhymin-the-shit/
im like, 40 cal, a rap artist, who spit-fire/
So fall back, like steppin up on some trip-wires/
man...and for the cake you know im rippin-the-beats/
i only fuck dime pieces when im hittin-the-sheets/
so theyre askin if i flip out, i flip-off-police/
flippin bricks, even nicks, im hittin chicks-with-the-meat/
i... rap-tight, lyrical black-light/
cuz im different than other mother fuckers and thats-right/
me? im, crazy-as-fuck, guns, eighty-will-buck/
you couldnt beat me in a battle with the lady-of-luck/

[Little Boy]

MASTA Mynd, his rhymes are hot, but his mind is blind,
flames throwing, plants growin, in the land of kind!

[Masta Mynd]

in the land-of-kind, im the man-with-rhymes/
damn-hes-fine, so all the ladies stand-in-line/
my plans-to-shine, till i cant-go-blind/
am i evil or good? shit ill let the plants-decide/

[Little Boy]

but as the plants decide, the man relies,
on much more than his thoughts,
grow life can lead to many knots,
but of course, it will leave you with mucho pot

[Masta Mynd]

mucho-pot, shit im tryna shoot-those-shots/
through the hoop, hula hoop, till im through-those-spots/
lyrical rhymes, a miracle of irritable kinds/
try to fly high, but need weed to get to the sky/

[Little Boy]

need weed for the sky?
why not just die?
if you tryin and not flyin
and got many hoez reliein
then there really is no point
you could always smoke a joint