"hdub Invitational Final: Shakeet Lohk Em vs Prolif" Tue May-09-06 11:50 PM by the_best_part
There was no way this endeaver was about to end on a sour note. Props to hdub for kicking it off and sustaining almost until the end. The entries were late, but I didn't think that was grounds for dismissal. After all, it IS the final round and I don't think it's unfair for the cats that made it this far to have a lil extra time to submit their entries.
So, I'm really excited to post up this last and final round.
First we have Shakeet Lohk Em whose lyrical skill can't be denied and whose steady incline and improvement during this competition has been remarkable to say the least. The track is hot y'all.
Then we have Prolif who has consistantly blessed us with ill drops and who still holds the KOTR title. This cat is smooth and gifted.
This is the finall y'all! Please show your appreciation for this event by posting your votes/comments.
Through the years we were treated so second class/ City school teachers playin parents while our seconds pass/ Hope the lessons last, past 2:45/ When we hit the street and put our life on the line/ Was good at English, excelled in arithmetic/ Bust since I can remember, yo I always had a rhythm tick/ And through my filaments/ Of pens I would write light so bright, I kinda lost sight of my mental gift/ Fights at home and pop lookin for a segue/ Through all my drama, I stopped writin for over a decade/ But last year I got back on my diesel/ With Picasso poetry and the world as my easel/ See, I'm 25, and I've been writin since 9/ When I first say my daddy sniffin on them white lines/ I come from real life, not no hood pantomime/ Where most would stand and analyze, I react cuz I'ma get mine/
Throughout all my crazy life, I never changed/ And though sorrow still remains, the kid Ralph still the same/ But not a day go by I donít feel the pain/ So Iím real till the graveÖ/
Relax shawty, yeah you got your channel right/ Live and Direct broadcastin like your satellite/ I handle mics in the same way that I battle life/ No holds barred and stomp it out with an anvilís might/ This mammalís tight, ainít got time for yall capybaras/ Copycat rats, style drier than the hot Sierra/ The Oxy bearer; fresh air to the rap asthmatics/ When itís just some rancid acid/ Just bein candid, see lyrically the kid's King Kong/ The speech raw, the book of Revelation is my theme song/ Iím religious Ďbout my craft, an Art Monk with a wind staff/ Bringin hurricane change to give my congregation whiplash/ And lift lads like a Heineken six pack/ When they listen to my gospel wearin helmets with chinstraps/ Iím so sick, the grim reaper wear a mask around me/ Disinfect his robe, and get some R&R down in Maui/ Itís so contagious when I spit, Itís a pandemic/ Mass clinics, from my heat thats whiter than a grand wizard/ And centers on whoever think they competition/ That's like sayin, niggas pickin grapes from out of Martha's Vineyard/ Don't box me in, I 'on got no priors/ Shakeet more than "conscious", I'm straight from The Wire/ So for ANY cat who feel I ain't no ill emcee, come see me and I will eat thee/ Discharge you through my feces, flush you live on stage or even tucked behind your p.c./ So please see The Light and chill like Common did/ You ainít built for rappin homey, keep your office gig/ Iím Cairo laden how I cycle the cadence, and lipo my pages/ Slicker than some bald tires hydroplanin/ It's Pharoh Sha from the Valley of Kings/ With a golden abacus to keep the talley of things/ And, sad to say, yall ain't addin up/ How you figure cuz you rhymin bars you think that's enough/ Yall got Sean Kemp conflicts, underachievin/ Guess ya moms never told you, you a blunder of semen/ Wonderin even, why'd you ever mutter a reason for slumberin season/ Slayin cats from breakadawn to thunderous evenins/ I'm so gifted, a victim of my rogue physics/ With no limit, I'm more than prolific/ I got your heart like when the sodium rise/ I'm the EPITOME of dope, call me Opium Prime/ Transformin what you wish for to what's happenin/ An emcee to split the Red Sea for Pan Africans/ Iím religious Ďbout my craft, an Art Monk with a wind staff.../
verse1: now when it comes to a beat or a freestyle, i give what they need now/ emcees keep my number in speed dial/ iím the one they calling for hits/ and itís like i rinse my mouth out wit soap, i keep some bars on my lips/ Prolif, tha regular cat, spittiní on hetero-tracks/ and they goní take me off top Ė iím like a federal tax/ and there really aint no com-paring him/ number one in yaí fantasy - lyrically, iím Shawn Marion/ born as the cat that could come through/ to give yaíll a break from the norm of what rap has succumbed to/ no glassy chain or a flashy Range/ just trying to drop a lil sounds for some cash and change/ and it prollyí wont sell, but i impact whole nations/ iíll just spread my tracks around and ask for do-nations/ and naw i aint on no station Ė I hate radio/ but never stop ripping mics on the daily yo/
hook: how many mics do I rip on the daily?/ many money, say me say many, many, many/ how many beats Prolif make on the daily? many money, say me say many, many, many/
verse2: Iímma separate the tracks from the bars, the wack from the raw/ the ill from those who just rap on a board/ and Iíont spit unless Iím reaching a goal/ cuz even Shaq and Kobe squashed it; on some ďbeef is oldĒ/ but faí real, I say to each-his own/ cuz iím skippin all ears for now, dawg iím trying to reach ya soul/ Iímma mix-tape phenomenon; Prolif Extravagant/ i carry on trying to make it out this Babaloyn/ and on the youth, some giving it up/ cuz they still think that Jordans and a gold chain is living it up/ and I aint goní lie, I thought the same myself/ tilí I realized that living check to check aint the same as wealth/ and yaíll rappers aint the same as me Ė yaíll spit nonsense/ the difference is tha flow, tha skill, and the content/ Cochise back just to i stay on ya conscience/ now letís take it to the hook, like Iím fishing for comments/
bridge: and you donít stop and you donít quit/ Prolif Cochise bringing yall dope hits/ and you donít quit and you donít stop/ iímma keep bringing yaíll that real hip-hop/
verse3: now verse 3 gon start like the first two/ but iím running out of time, gotta rhyme foí the end of my curfew/ plus iím looking for a girl wit virtues/ somebody I can bring home to fam, but still take her to church too/ a down to earth chic wit diverse views/ plus she stylish in tha ill shades, heels, and tha skirts too/ she gon know she dealing wit somení thatís off here/ when she comes to the crib and sheíont see nuthiní but equipment and software/ Pro the first to write bars on a Treo/ and then put on a show once a week, iím like Cos and Theo/ country dudes say, ďdaí buoy is re-alĒ/ rappers guard ya deals, i leave egos scarred as Seal/ so yaíll really canít ask faí moí/ thaí boyís been slept on Ė itís that box spring mattress flow/ from NC to internatio-nal/ iímma keep rippin mics til my casket close/