Week 5 Paint Thinner Flow

(Crocker Verse)

/Holla!, Holla!, naw I'm just foolin'/ Crocker! Crocker! Doin' my one, two-in'/ Bastards, baby, this here is a movement/ Bitches be like "Slow it down, you too confusing"/ They wanna be P. Didd., I wanna be J. Prince/ Rap a lot, bitch, and be on my independent/ Six for every album, I'll cover the promo/ Contractual heat-slinger; Hideo Nomo/ Two-faced execs. try and play me for slow-mo/ Play Nelly, "Check the Telly," I don't need you no mo'/ Build a fan base and do my distribution/ Or let them do it, for one-tenth of what I'm moving/ Proof in the pudding, I don't need an endorsement/ "Mr. Ed smiles" tryna feed me some horse shit/ Goldilocks ain't bout to come close to my porridge/ 'Cause you should never EAT, if you ain't work FOR IT!/

Week 3 Who Better Than Me

(Hook)
/Better move 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this true shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/ Better move 'fore you lose it/ No need in actin' foolish, I'm the best at this new shit/ Walking around askin' "who better than me?"/ "Not you, or you, nor you, or you/

(Crocker Verse)
/Molecular structure, will puncture any motherfucker/ That dare stray...or try to cross the juncture/ I'm of a different makeup, a different breed of MC/ That's why I laugh at the gall of ya'll tryna test me/ Best me? I doubt that/ Real shit? I'm bout that/ Crocker; Only cracker bringing the South back/ It's more than swagger or the delivery enabled/ It's what chivalry you bring to the table...bitch/  I'm of a different caliber, a parabola/ You're weak, like five minute trips off Salvia/ I'm incensed for the sick shit, words are endless/ Dimwit, been fit, never try to flip this/ It's on baby boy, what you'd rather try see?/ It's Spartanburg, bitch, like a Southern Fried Sting/ Holler at a 'Bama, Blue Ribbon & some women/ Make use of her digits, then dispose of her linens/

Week 7 Sandlapper Swagger

(Crocker Verse)
Caleb, I think they hate me/ They front like they tough and they're bare-knuckle rough.../But I know that they fugazi/ Spit 'till my throat raw, bend every note raw/ 'Bout to plucked and 'bout to fucked like...what you drop the soap for? (Pause)/ Anyway I write 'till I mutilate my cuticles/ Arthritis premature, but, it feel so boo-tiful/ 'Bout that, 'bout that, holler out South Crack/ Every bar "bump," like my mouth done got a gout patch/ Button down shirts with a pull-over sweater.../ Animal control flow; Pull pussy better/ Spit nasty shit like every tooth is abscessed/ Play your beat,  I jack it, I'm a motherfucking bandit!/ Bastard, kid, just ask your bitch/ What you can do, when, you task a clit/ Rover, red rover, send them bitches over/ Wouldn't know a fresh cut, if I put stitches on your shoulder/

(Kronkite Verse)
/Outrageous, contagious, amazing, just blazing, Caucasian/ I be in the kitchen just baking until my dough is steady raising/ You runnin', I'm gunnin' for number one, before the summer/ And best believe I won't stop 'till all you rappers are under/ the dirt, ya worth is nothing of comparison, embarrassing/ cause ya all need to stop, if ya career ya cherishing/ You see the signs of the road, all the heads shaking no/ Telling me I'll never make it, my breath I need to save it/ let me tell how I got to where I am/ No money from hungry, greedy Uncle Sam/ I scrimped, dipped, and saved, you limp pimps just play/I'm just here to say, to get out my way/ 'Cause today is the day that I take my frustrates/ Out on whoever steps up to the plate/ Your flows, I will take them, and your hoes I will rape them/ And your lows I will make them my highest expectations/

Week 1 Every Time I Touch Mics

(Crocker Verse)
/Carolina baby, but, you already knew that/ Rap's Silva, I'm iller, pound the track 'till it's blue,black/ Fuck should I front for? Comfortable, true facts/ Flip a Madlib and go polly with Loot Packs/ Fresh with the words, Listerine tonsils/ Dabbled in the magic; Christine O'Donnell/ Toss a lil' seed and watch the hens peck/ Then they cry and scream when I leave 'em; Glen Beck/ It's all shit's and giggles, 'till I hit em in the middle/ Self-esteem'll start to dwindle/ Dig 'em even more, if they're lil', very nimble/ Designated hitter, now they wanna call me Terry Pendele...ton/ My spit weighs a ton.../ Your bitch dates a....bum/ You feed 'em, I beat 'em/ Suckas are too lame/ Fantastic bastard, all I know is a blue flame/

Week 8 Our Condolences

/Peer into my mind as my thoughts coagulate/ Bind to form the bars as the people gravitate/ Destiny tryna court me; trial, magistrate/ Just picking up on me? Man, damn...you late/Best hide your bravado, war up out my sorrow/ Rhyme technicolor..you seein' things mulatto/ White & black mixture, South Crack fixture/ They count on me, on the low, Outback census/ Open up your senses, this greatness in the flesh/ Born to be an idol, young, chasing after death/ Baruch atah Adonai, they try and cut my wings off/ Try and shift the weight, try and push off the see-saw/ If ain't the best...bear a witness and subpoena/ I'm after cold cash, yo, Medina that's anemic/ Push weight up out my mouth, resembling bulimics/ But, bet it's all fresh, like it's bathing in Febreeze and/ Seventeenth bar and I'm just cutting my teeth in/ Bet I'm spittin' A.I.D.S., see the lesions when I'm breathing/  Worsens with the seasons, believe it when I speak it/ More heat between the measures than "23" & Cleavland/ Got the word from Pico, their talent is poquito/ Tony Clifton swagger, Kaufman with my steelo/ They spy on the kid, like it's Porky's and the peep hole/ Claimin' that you "fire," well, I'm negative below/ President precedent setter, definite deficit better/ Put your chips on me and bet that the deficit betters/ John Wesley descendent, Hardin is my makeup/ Time, pardon what I take up, I'm just trying to save us/ Cut from a fabric, that's now since endangered/ They spoke of my coming like that baby in the manger/ Respect when you hear it, nobody's coming after/ Won't claim to be your savior...Just an angry cracker.../

Supernova Burnout

(1st Verse)
/Critical enough, feel it's pivotal to touch/ That essence 'fore it leaves and eviscerates the dust/ Just to muster up a lyric that capitulates my trust/ To think self-sacrifice demonstrates my love/ I see the hand of the clock, I'll demand that it stops/ Damned, tryna plan, and Uncle Sam on my jock/ Youth a shame of a sham when you stand on a prop/ But what's the worth of a man? Where he lands or how he drops?/ Carolina's abstract, wunderkid, tea sippin' Mad Hat/ Measure me, how I build, not by my ASCAP/ Praise to be God, I keep fallin' to the trappings/ All I took from Jesus was love and take your lashings/ So past transgressions and all man's lessons/ I'm a fucking emcee that demands your attention/ Whether broke or prosperous, po' or prosperous/ You can call rappers "hot," just distinguish me as phosphorous/

(Hook)
And I might fall/ And this might burn down/
But right now, I won't turn down/
Told me, you'd thought I'd learn now/
'Nother cliche, supernova burnout/

(3rd Verse)
/Absent but I'm present, sometimes I'm second guessing/ I'm the man, but still a man, and mistakes are my collections/ See me with my shrine and the temple I'm erecting/ Watch it go astray and no one find objection/ I'm in my prime, sure, but when I leave...so my legacy as well/ Yet and still, leave the best of me in every bar I yell/ 'Cause who among you'se really testing me for real?/ Crocker, ye and far, I wrote the recipe for ill/

Week 41 Faites-Le A Mort

Cabbage patch in Hackensack, couple broads back to back/

/Bout as ugly as a midget tranny smoking bath salts/Waiting on T, that fat fucker is tardy / With these Cheers winos siting giggling hearty/   

See em, the footwork is like Christopher Walken/But he's short and smelling like a miniature Balken/  I hope it's worth what his fam' will have to spend on a coffin/And tell my mans chill, that his liquor has tossed him/ That's when Lurch swings, so I weave like Lennox/ Take a switchblade seize his appendix/ remember the winos like all I need is a witness/And a third strike means that I won't see christmas/

Yo T! The fuck you been at?!

CHILL!

BE REAL, I CAME FOR THE BLOW

Fuck Bobby Hurley,  bitch ruined my Filas/ Blood stained stripes now they lookin' Adidas/ T, you strapped, them pigs plot to roast us/ Let's plow a quick gagger and cock that toaster/

Thinking of last night, using all of my rubbers/ That pussy hummed like it was blind as shit/ T this it, the car's  half a block at nine and fifth/

Bitch quit eyeing my shit/ Wipe my crack with my hand in your eyes and shit/

 Reach into my coat, tighten my grip/ Pull The M3, pump two in the captain/The other 3 fire, buncha bullets, no action/

T busts out, hare triggers his Uzi/ Mows down two like he remembered a movie/The last fires a shell that pierces his neck/ T falls next to Walt, breath screaming respect/

He fires one last round, caught in the pig in his his chest/Says if I'ma do it, I'ma do it to death/