Braggin' Writes

[J-Live] For underground metaphors You can scrape an inch below the turf, for what it's worth My style's been developed in the core of the Earth The exhale's volcanic, the inhale is seismic So brothers just panic when the Live one arrives with The natural ability to run through your crew From 2-1-4 to 2-1-3 to 2-1-2 In other words, from Dallas, to L.A., to the place where J stay Everyday is mayday So you can talk your shit on how you're wettin' MC's With mad blood stains but I'll bet you can't stand the rain I look upon your brain with disdain Go back and reflect on my endeavors black I can't complain It's like a raw deal, consistant with the way I make you feel The ends stay revealed while the means I conceal And those who try to steal get decapitated You wanna snatch my H2O-type flow, but it evaporated I displays my credentials over instrumentals And my potential, increases at a rate that's exponential It's detrimental questionin' my thesis The penetration's exact, like amniocentesis I rip your rhyme to pieces after drainin' out your fluid My vocab is fluent, yours is evident of being truant I know you wanna make moves but son you best to take a second look Before my knight takes your rook Chorus: Cause everybody's rapping, and only few can flow So why the hell they trying to deal with Live I don't know I handle true MC's on their block or at their show So if you got some bullshit, please keep it on the low [J-Live] Cause yo, I got the hair-splittin', self-written unbitten style That leaves the competition running scared and shaking in their pants You best to set it off cause black it ain't no second chance Once I'm open, all you doing is hoping that the Live one Will put the mic down, but son don't try to snatch it after The laughter won't cease from the comparison, how dare you son Step around the booth when I'm on The microphone magician says poof, you're gone with the wind There's no trace of your friends cause you don't know where the Beginning ends or where the end begins But you see that's the difference, you get sold, I get paid Black I told you, get paid If you're broke I'll have to rain on your parade You belong in special ed if you think you got it made J-Live with the mic is like the chef with the blade Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed Yeah, you thought your joint was fly but the flight was delayed Because Chorus: repeat 2X [J-Live] Cause yo, I take the grey matter of pretenders Through my mental blender, and then return to sender My pen don't pretend to offend I intend to render MC's, hanging loose like a fender bender I recommend regardless of your gender That you strike fucking with J-Live from your agenda And remember that whoever lends a helping hand to defend ya Will get burned to a cinder As I end the, reign of wack MC's with their suicidal tendencies Rendering me sick, with the thoughts of killing enemies But then I return to reality Metaphorically murdering MC's when they battle me You can't rattle me I'm not your average snake slithering through the grass I surpass the serpent as I head to class You consider me crass as I wax that ass; style's no joke But you best belive I gets the last laugh