JWSB Bootleg #2 (Milton Brandy)

I'm a step above the rest, getting fresh off my own breath So don't fret, a go-getter go gets his own checks Told you, reckless with the 1-2 Neckless is the crowd when I'm venting on the prowl like I'm supposed to Ghosts coast to coast, going postal When they hear the joke master roasting on these cats Battling in my mind, cause really I don't have half the time To slice half the rhymes down to make sure these cats survive Nah I don't want my record getting criminal Just maybe some beatings with the black eyes for visuals Status is critical, giving rappers rickets When I'm spitting like a spigot, for sure that's the ricochet These flakes getting half baked when Sam Baker flip it, man Shaking like he making fans fake Laker tickets The stans understand make 'em wait until the minute That I drop what they should cop, you hear it on the block Man my rapping's so cold that it be running from the cops Gunning cousins with the smock on, for the slop I drop on The folks hobnobbing 'bout the knocks that we rock on I'm here to rotate that rock that we talk on So go hate, rapper's heads swelling like a prostate Hitting the remission cause they fishing with no bait So no bite, no Mike Tyson fight Lying guys dissing with their crying eyes pissing But they stylized, missing, sickened demise is my obliged mission I hide for a surprise when they find you guys knitting, smitten Windpipes, the sky's high so climb the sides Sounds surreal but I psych it up until the mic is cut And even after that making heads dizzy, call it famish rap Dishing out lavish scraps, tap into my madams Wishing like Aladdin that I had 'em That was back when before I was attacking all these rap dens I took a little break but now I'm back in so clap, man