enough of the games...JOES, LETS GO!

aight man up! i was buggin wit yall/
i spit way sicker - stay huggin a stall/
aint budging at all, this is nuthin at all/
so grab ya troops, grab ya crew, cousins and all/
this Sarge-tight flow, spit sparked ni-tro/
illuminate the dark, u like, "where the night go?"/
do shows like Mi-chael, any day of the cy-cle/
while this dude Destro don't even own a mic yo/
yo lil garbage spits iz old; some'n that's been/
or some'n like them leftovers i dump in the bin/
it's like some'n to ten, "know where ya skillz at?"/
saw you humpin ya man, screaming "uh! you feel dat!?"/
all yo maggots on highs, i'm known to pack treble/
EFF yo disguise! i turn that mask to scrap metal!/
yo rhymes drag slow, and ya fans r fags yo/
met ya match - better be worrying 'bout Fantasmo/
cause the Sarge leave you scarred with this le-thal barrage/
now this homo wanna "Talk To Me" like Chico Debarge/
go meet with yo squad; you blowing smoke apache/
Finesstro, fix ya dress yo, you showing yo maxi/


"the REAL American Ill-Flow"