Stretch Armstrong Freestyles

[Royce Da 5'9"] Stretch Stretch.. (Whassup sup?) I'm tryin to figure out a way to start this rhyme off (Mmm) You ain't got no ideas? (Nah) Aight, I'll start it like this (Aight) Check it, yo {*P. Diddy's "Bad Boy for Life" beat plays*} FUCK, you! (haha) I'm all nuts, no glory You're walkin now but nigga what's the story? You better, duck when I go BOOM, cause suckers bore me And yeah, I probably hate Tommy Boy as much as Nore do Who the best? Eminem, Jigga or Nas? Cause when it comes lottery time, that spot'll be mines You takin the throne is under the bridge And yeah, you might be +Ready to Die+ but none of you +Big+ So, you've been dared to listen 'til the fiercest rhythm'll spit air condition glitter and wrist cool FUCK doom, I don't age Cut "Boom" up loud and see a mushroom cloud on stage {*explosion*} Do the math, four knuckles'll give you six months And, you niggas is so pussy you make my dick jump (haha) I don't wish to be king, I'll pass the throne Whatever shines too bright shines half as long I don't kiss hoes, I only put my lips on a cup Pee-wee niggas, go somewhere and piss on your nuts (haha) God gave me this life, and if he decides to envy and give me I'm takin the flow of the century with me Oh, so if you feel insane, and want a war Reality check, you not ready, your soldiers is still in trainin A bunch of hundreds that'll read the menu We run tabs with receipts sayin "To be continued.." And - bully niggas this is your day Meet me at the flagpole so you can hit me in my fists with your face And snitch niggas is common as E-Bay wear Uhh, give the cops more +Alerts+ than DJ Red I got the blood of a dead soldier, on my palms And the scent of yo' bitch lingerin on my fingertips And you niggas is deep, I got a deep barrel that'll blaze So FUCK deep, the deep shall lay in a shallow grave For you deep niggas {*beat switches to Lord Tariq & Peter Gunz' "What's That Sound?"*} Uhh.. {Stretch Armstrong is now in your world..} Yo, I determine what time it's on, I call my nigga Proof Hand him a pint of Limon and turn him loose! I'm tired of you new jacks I'm tired of niggas sayin they bout to blow 'Less you a bitch, I don't care if you bout do that Move back, youngster, the Glock gon' speak Chew up your vest and turn your chest hair to taco meat! The street, continuous to pit, too quick to smash ya Or flash the clip, or give you the picture develop The click clock, six shots blows through another door And it gets hot, this Hip-Hop Quotable tug of war Who did ya niggas beats you bitches, who made it work? That shit was {*phwrt!*}, I got harder 2-Way alerts You get toe-up and re-torn; by the walkin bomb That I blow up and re-form, grow up then re-born Told you I'm a star that's gon' live forever Servin life sentence and get out and go to the bar So nigga take BLLAT! I gotta go to the car BLLAT, oh BLLAT! I gotta throw it in 'park' The iron'll wet ya - the Mausberg pump With the buckshots shells'll turn a nigga into Chinese Checkers I don't even start writin 'til I'm on my third 5th That's what you get, when Beatminers meet the Wordsmiths Uhh, every time I go out, I cop somethin new Every time I throw this right hand I knock somethin loose Who the fuck think they can see me? Might as well Call the wife and tell her you're not comin home and to take it easy My guns don't shoot, they WOOF! At them sissy-ass niggas type to accidentally shoot they foot Desert Eagle too big for you bitch-ass niggas Soft-ass palms, can't take the kickback niggas And you wonder why they suckin my dick Or why I keep a suitcase with a hundred grand handcuffed to my wrist Or why the watch could possibly make you lose your sight blinkin On the wrist, lookin like halogen hazard lights blinkin Royce 5-9 in this bitch About to sprinkle gunfire on any snitch Now who the fuck want it, bitches? Yeah, uhh, uhh