Page 1 My testament is a reference to D Mecca to a less extent Negligent but still heaven sent to represent This seven is bent off the joys of life still the boys are trife Fake dudes we destroy this type Some are wishing for an open cell cause they had dope to sell Talking coke on their cell in coded language that was cracked Donuts was weed Danish was crack Cause of the anguish they wanna crack at a reverse in time This thought hurts my mind when I rehearse a line from a verse that find Your ear clear with sheer honesty hear my modesty wrapped in confidence That suggest my prominence D Fresh equal dominance Simply put if you listen to the wisdom I Clay Davis the system Not guilty even if I got filthy Slave to the mud cut a MCs neck and bathe in its blood Cause he plays a thug acting out a part Cracking out a fart while macking out a dart Heat packing for this art snacking like a shark Bread stacking by the cart
Page 2 I’m back for the first time another cursed rhyme that hearst lines Worst than spine injuries feel the energy I been a G Not a gangsta just add O.D. no talk just send the fee you see What I’m inking affect Blacks more than Lincoln While these MCs are shrinking like a weakling I’m speaking what you seeking every weekend Black and proud rarely lack a scowl but I pack a smile When I mack a fowl for good taste Chickens bring a grin to a hood face cause I would base A connect to get some good face Don’t care about race when talking dumping my nut waste When a broad’s mouth and my dick elope and she don’t choke Got me fighting the urge to cum pulling a rope-a-dope Before Johnson knock out a great white hope Hopefully down her throat graphic like porn Not part of society’s norm Cause I see through facades as I brainstorm Making knowledge born in written material I’m that nigga writing imperial while eating some cereal they talk about on Backstage Next to some Apple Jacks I attack a page the sound of a track with rage Each sentence packed with blaze to wreck the trashest On the street where the tech blastes I affect the masses with the dialect that’s the brashest
1. " The God's Audio Rhyme Book Page 3, 4, & 5" In response to Reply # 0
Page 3 In the age of Berettas I put my rage in letters To gauge am I’m better on stage or in any weather Than any fucka that tough a mic I say fuck the fame sometimes lust the hype Cuss like sailors make a big fuss alright In the process I learn the ridge but burned a bridge To earn a fridge of life support The right sort of fight of course It’s a sight of force like if I was Nike endorsed On the charts I’m adjusting the top As I walk with those lusting the block Busting shots from rusting glocks fussing Pac Is better than Big cause of his impact with words Pouring out liquor for those clapped by the curb Stuck in a trap as the burbs become our goal Mini – mansions white picket fence In the midst of shit that’s thick and dense By their presence you can tell who’s real or bitch I feel that itch to get a deal and be rich Get bread like that deal for that Hitch movie Will Smith had Get the meat for the spliff by the bag It’s truly a gift not to be sad Puffing to get a lift while I gag and cough With rhyme I’m among the biggest of the bad we lost When I’m gone my toe tag will say boss
Page 4 Black mask, black gloves I attack thugs When lyrical crack hugz a track from above I’m addicted to the rhythm becoming one with the drug Until its flesh of my flesh blood of my blood Heat of my hear love of my love until I’m a drug Away from being a strung out addict the black bunny rabbit Broke nigga with a rhyming habit with thought of living lavish you see If the ghetto energy could walk and talk then it would be me The essence of the gutta translated through poetry Cigarette butts and cracked bottles of Jack D Hip hop steams through my pores until I almost O.D. Making me a shell of myself travel through hell for my wealth Close to having stale health drinking ale on the stealth Holding my liquor like a pail or a shelf in the attic Black Asiatic perfecting my battle tactics through mathematics Make niggaz who bring static stop breathing like asthmatics
Page 5 Life’s what you make it in the bowel s of the ghetto Some live soap others foul with metal real wild fellows Can’t knock the hustle tho that’s all we got Standing on the block with a Snickers and some pop Bobbing our heads to the kicker with some knock Becoming a dime picker with some rocks on your finger or your neck Hoping some critters don’t linger after sex Buying phone ringers to show respect for the hottest joint we love Murda mitten hustlers and Detroit thugs Always on point even off drugs they all my fam blood or no blood It’s more than love we rep the same city Going against the grain type gritty niggaz for real We destined for dollar bills and be violently killed Can’t hold my tongue behold the sun of a cold gun See how the game is supposed to be sold dun
2. "The God's Audio Rhyme Book Page 6" In response to Reply # 0 Sun Dec-07-08 10:35 PM by d fresh
Page 6 I love you but you make me cuss and spit To the point I wanna bust your shit But instead of me being on the rush to hit I think about our good times and lust your hips The touch of your lips beautiful smile Rock a natural style met you on the Isle On the strip power years ago dressed like a hoe Step to you to get a quick blow but your mental made me move slow Now I call you wifey born a Pisces like to be icey Sexy as hell wearing my white tee Rollers in your hair digging in your nose critiquing my flows Cause you reflect my light a perfect sight 5 foot 8 height Curve well opposite of pale is your skin tone Quoting today’s math in your moans as we bone in a zone Fuck a club Im happy at home when we alone Listening to Badu while giving head 69 ways then breakfast in bed Turkey bacon, eggs, and grits in silence our intense feelings Speak through dense ceilings Its foolish to call it love in fact its deeper than that Higher than the highest understanding in fact
3. "RE: The God's Audio Rhyme Book Page 7" In response to Reply # 2 Sun Dec-07-08 10:35 PM by d fresh
Page 7 E-pill hustling for them dollar bills we muscling And would kill in tussling for that power Was said by the big homey at rest But he looked sick and bony from the stress As we blow cigs discussing a phony mess Of niggaz cracking on niggaz with less Than them but don’t own nothing Niggaz got everything in their Mama’s name Steadily the drama bang in trauma we hang Seeing if the Doc can make a miracle While the time it takes is unbearable No one is secure enough to cry hysterical But that’s life when you are in peril for dough My people learn by defeat and jail In rain, snow, sleet, or hail Niggaz work all their life to another street tale Of dudes getting money but they meet Montana’s end Or doing football numbers in the pen The same story told over and over again Gunfire off the roof of the Brewsters Athletes surviving off the loot from boosters Sirens for the DPD coupes are the roosters of Detroit life The beginning of the end if you point to the hype
4. "The God's Audio Rhyme Book Page 8" In response to Reply # 3 Tue Dec-23-08 03:05 PM by d fresh
Mind detect mind at God speed manifesting what I read in scriptures I sculpt pictures to ball like Sixers Night Life fixture till I’m paid out of the grave Salat made to focus distraught ways MCs caught blaze when I heat up like Johnny Storm In the line of fire like Bonnie and Clyde torn By piercing slugs build with fierce and drugged thugs While they serving addicts On the block I live today’s mathematics Shedding light on the tragic Pick your poison democratic or republican After some loving its time to grub again If I get full in life duels I send my wolves To gobble chickens and pigs ruff Rap John Mickens rigged tough on some big stuff With explosive similes corrosive to enemies Taken in doses of imagery For eternity I put MCs in infirmaries for certainly
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