Glass Jar Raps Featuring Lawrence Turner and Shomari-Chioke as Figgy Fraser

12. Glass Jar Raps (Phife Dawg Scratch) Laurelton Is In the house Laurelton Is In the house Laurelton Is In the house I can’t forget Southside (U-God Scratch) Here comes my Shaolin Style Here comes my Shaolin Style (Maxx 39) Yo Yo Yo?! Yo Pass the mic to me Its’ the right disease You could bite and sneeze Would you like to please my inner most heart? With the right lyrics for your brain to calculate With out you hating I wouldn't prosper like a prostitute with prospects in the Prospect Projects I height to Loch Ness, under sea adventures I had a dream that I wrote this rhyme Glass Jar Raps at the very best time Dog me I’ll snatch your cats out the bag Rats and the mags of the blacks of the rags Of the matching actress that I bear backed and sweared to smacked I adapt to the statues, blast dudes when my raps cued Bad news for the do that do that Crews clapped for what you lack, move back with a rude act Quit the poo chat, meaning the bullshit Lets rhyme that with full clip and pulpit then we smooth dips Like I chewed tits, got my two licked Pool stick new shit, two chicks get the tool tip When they don't have skill they never keep it real That’s just the math of the half skip path Bad whip spears, guns knives and bombs Suck my dick.com let you haters log on Bad whip spears, guns knives and bombs Suck my dick.com let you haters log on Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic, Lawrence Turner in the house (Lawrence Turner) Ya’ll like to spit on the beat, I like to barf! You would’ve thought I had strep throat and a bad cough With stomach pains and diarrhea in my draws And athlete’s foot, my toes would fall off And gangrene with skin that dry and flake off And erectile dysfunction with blue balls Plus diabetes and real bad gentile warts Cause I am the sickest rapper to ever write some bars So why you all up on me? I’m trying to have a Maserati or be overseas eating some calamari With a bad light skin hottie, standing up right beside me They confusing us with Shomari and Steph Naughty Meaning miraculous, a monster writing manuscripts Making it a minimum of rappers that I’m macking with Munching all you mannequins, y’all mindless and y’all meddling Rapping is our medicine but y’all lacking adrenalin Take some similes-mix it up with some synonyms Top it off with antonyms, making it rhyme through syllables Drop into intervals; slap it on a beat or two Throw some meaning in it and I bet you all can do it too So why would you want to mess with Lawrence fool? I’m telling you amateurs that’s something you don’t really want to do Me and Maxx, with Figgy on top of that? That’s one in all of you *fags*not to open that Glass Jar of Raps Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic Yo son, pass the mic, Figgy Fraser in the house (Shomari-Chioke as Figgy Fraser) Dog, I’m trying to fuck Paula Patton Appall at patents, nigga you can’t jack this jack Jack the Ripper on a swisher I’m iller Kill a verse with a filler, fill a hearse witcho’ nigga Ain’t no verse to deliver, service, preacher Tell these niggas that they worthless, keep they features Tell these niggas find they forehead, scrape em’ where the curb Is Sold connections to murders in these scriptures and these verses Lacking on my churching, conversating with my lyrics Little fear a little liquor, bring my level back to kill it This Debello in the summer, full court five on five You with the fourth quarter, you cee who gon’ really ride I am in the hands of the lord, you in the hands of your boys So tell me, whose cost Is flawed? Just cause I ain’t stunting don’t mean that I don’t got It And even with the knowledge you can be a false prophet, stop it Your contraband is conspicuous Your operation frivolous, with no real goals Mythical sold out tour, with no real shows and no real hoes 80 thousand twitter followers… They should all jump you, beat you for your lunch food Burn your bitch weave with the package and the bundle Packing ratchets, you a liar nigga y’all pack groceries I was sitting in the oven feeling nice and toasty, I’m chilling I am the heat up in the kitchen Kiss your bitch before I leave, unless there’s seamen on her teeth Screaming Skee up in the V while I’m bumping some old me Jeffrey James, Kobe, you might never hold me You might have to hold deez ‘fore you hold your own spot Depending on your character and sexual preference Nigga die for your sentence, take a stand for your right Instead of packing the hammer, I was controlling the mic, I’m nice… Bible Scriptures from the Book of Rhyme Uh, who-hooooooo niggas not ready son! I don’t even freestyle Yo lets rock son! (Dr. ****) Seems to me you might be a little anxious to relive those headaches, by doing, whatever It Is you can (Maxx 39) Yeah, that’s about right