Tuesday, 20 November 2012



I came, I saw, I conquered...so call me Julius
I'm the emperor of flow, man, your rhymes are kinda dubious
You're a mangy little mongrel, playing dead while I play fetch
I'll leave you swinging from the gallows, dog, like I was old Jack Ketch

I'll seduce your woman for the last time, like I was Linda Fiorentino
Because I've got more game inside me than a Vegas Strip Casino
So watch your mouth and watch your step, man, and watch your back like it was Walking Dead
I'm a lover AND a fighter...you're just an empty little Talking Head

I'm Burning Down your House, you fool, 'cause I'm a Psycho Killer
You'll have to flee my wrath from town to town and post to pillar
So you better make like Flock of Seagulls and Run So Far Away
'Cause otherwise, you're mine, my friend...it'll be your final day


Yo, Julius--go get me a hot dog and a smoothie
You think you got the skills to rock tha mic but you’re a newbie
If you’re an emperor, I’ll make dead sure you’re the last
I’ll take you out like Vin Diesel—furious and fast

You’re clownin’ like Slim Pickens, you filthy coprophage
When you proposed you dressed up like Jean-Luc Picard and said: “Engage.”
I’ve got your flow right here, so close your eyes and open wide
You’ll be cryin’ home to Momma like a prince without his tide

And just like old Jack Ketch, you can’t kill a man proppa
All I need is my bare hands, and the lady’s singin’ opera
‘Cause when I lay you down to sleep, your ass is 6 feet down
That’s just the way it is—you’re Rihanna, I’m Chris Brown


So this is how you want it, you ungrateful lunatic
I feed you from my table, and then you turn it on me quick
Get ready to roll credits, son, 'cause this is how it ends
In case you didn't know, it's War, that's Why We Can't Be Friends

My skills are futuristic, your shit's older than Methuselah
I'm at Everest's summit while you're at base camp, hanging like a uvula
I'm getting play from supermodels, all I do is give them roses
While you got a Burning Bush from a rent-boy they call Moses

You're messing with The Wrong Man, so call me Henry Fonda
I'm a gleaming Aston-Martin, you're a rusted-out old Honda
Your chips are down, your time is up, you lost, but don't get pissed
You got schooled, and I'm the teacher...class dismissed

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