maddest raps

Look, I'm gonna put this so simple even YOU can understand it.
This is where we have all the raps, idiot.

Now this is a group rap.
We need rules so this doesn't become a huge mishap.

The first rule is to keep the flow.
Every line you spat needs to have one mo'.

When you say a line one time;
You need to give it a buddy-rhyme.

Now here's the second law of the lands.
Now, you gotta listen to my demands.

There shall be no OOC, out of character. {even comments}
Really man, I'm no joker.

Now, I'm gonna get out of the way, small fry,
So you can be the next guy.

I can already tell this topic will be a disaster,
we can't keep up, your the rhyming master.

You say he's a master, but he's spoke to start us off,
And anyone can tell that don't mean he's with the toff.

Y'see it's simple rhyming to keep up with the best,
You have to keep it going with a little bit of zest;

Not too hard once you get rolling-
Cause we all got rhymes so righteous heaven's bells'r sure be tolling!

Though of course not all the people here got skill,
Lacing words together, some just can't keep the chill.

I see what you mean, you rap the truth,
His start off pressure had me acting aloof,

But now I understand these rhyming ramifications,
stepping up my game for these rhythmic vocations,

It'll require passion and drive to set up these slammers,
So that'll hit with more force than a pogo hammer,

So thank you the one known as Lithping,
cuz my rappin' needs more pappin' than a laser gun, zing!

Step aside, the master's done, lemme show ya how to do,
You fools are not yet ready for the ultimate beats, you're all such foo's.

Ya gotta forget all the syntax,
Because when you're rapping, grammar's just mad whack.

Don't forget your conjunctions and your verbs,
And soon you'll be spittin' out some good words.

Take what's in your heart and pour it out, speak it fast,
Because you've only got one chance, and there's no way to make it last,
But if you don't take it, you'll never know if your dream has crashed,
All destroyed, and like a potato, mashed.

What a good beat, truly elite, but I got another, so stick to your seat.
Im the mad man, super fan, over hand under hand, slick as my oven pan with a spray tan.

Keepin rhymes flowing like Niagra Falls, got more balls than all of yalls! (DEEP SOUTH!)
Switchin it up, keepin it real, playin my words like a movie reel.

Top down, bloody screen (SO REAL!), beat it up, like Charlie Sheen.
Got my real team, dream team, super lean, with Mr. Bean.

Yo hack shack rap pack got no dyme to rhyme 'gainst me and super fly Clown Guy!
Leavin it to you, up with this new tune, real and so inferior, against my superior posterior.

(Drops Mic)

My darling, dearest doughnut.
Am I speaking slow 'nuff?

I gotta get this past your head,
This little thing before I go to bed.

I have to tell you that your rhymes are sweet,
But honestly, hon, you've dropped the beat.

Slow it down or make mistake,
Cuz this is rhymin' for rhymin's sake.

Though it ain't bad that your lines, they frantic
It's spread too thin, like the vast Atlantic.

I warn you now cause you got some skill
That shootin' off beats, it ain't just for the thrill.

You got an audience and we can see you havin' fun,
But think it over quickly, what if you the only one?

But my spiel's now done so you go back to your rhyming,
But just remember, ramp it up with only proper timing.

Like see what I'm doing when I rattle off the lines with a sickest beat of all but only slowly gaining time?

When doing all this stuff you gotta realize there's just some little bit of a finesse,
And misplacing all that energy to different parts is just gonna create one. (One) Big. (Big!) Mess.

To this I do respectfully decline, the gesture, just gonna go and let this wound fester, while you sleep in your little cage, gonna just go ahead and let this phrase rage with the intensity you've brought upon yourself, trust me, it's for your own health.

Rebel against the standards, social order and manners, of this one thread in particular, I let the smack down stick to em'. Judging with the highest caliber vernacular that's spectacular, a symphony to behold, unfold before your very eyes, so close to the touch, and just enough to make your heart bleed as you read in this feed that's spillin out the monitor. Gonna be a profiteer for this war that we caused that can't be paused, it's charged and enlarged, i'm gonna barge right in, low down, walk right up and throw down.

Keeping it like it's true, you little baby flying racoon. Your rhymes may be grammatically correct but they're flat and ain't got jack on the soul pourin out of the soul, dripping down to the floor, can't conceal it, gonna feel it, like an onion or banana, go ahead and peel it.

You may decline, but I instead choose to step right on up, so hold on for a second, lemme speak and you just shutup. You speak as if you've held your heart as a cold lump barely beating against your chest, but we're all fully aware, that's just a jest.

The sin that you've just commit, against all rapkind, will surely end with you getting hit. I suggest you find yourself a better brain, since any word larger than "Valkyrie" likely causes you strain. I'm a prophet spreading the truth of how to keep a steady beat, and you? Just an old bag of rotted meat (Get off the stage, rotface!).

Learn to color in your half-assed sketches, getting tired of cleaning up all of your messes. Wretched, they are, just like a wicked soul that's went way to far. And now I'm starin' up at the ceiling, and to the walls, thread-bare and peeling, to find a even the most miniscule of feeling, find a bit of soul for you, but no, we're on a different totem pole, and the purpose is worthless, no advice to give, and if I did, giving it's still a big "if."

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Lenny? Get that shit out of here,
The booty is not related, nothing to fear.

Ska-ba-diddly bump this shit, it's flying faster than cologne in a middle-school locker room so you better catch it with your baseball mitt.