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01/20/12(Fri)20:40 No.33449440
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 Dash began to pace her opponent, the light of the day fading as it was already late when her first turn came. The management turned on large gas torches, lighting the many arenas with bright propane flame, glinting in the various drinks clutched between teeth or held in magic. Hundreds of eyes were lazing about on the grass, watching the battles or being more proactive and being right up in the heat, following the lyrics as they rolled off the competitor's tongues.
Now starting to feel a sweat, the cyan pegasus switched gear, the microphone clutched between her wingtips still in a firm grip.
"Whenever I write, I put myself out of place from other ponies
So it don't sound like another brother's rap
I smother tracks with raw shit, pretenders aren't able to bite
What I bring to the table is height
Then I easily superceed, zebras need what I got
Reason I'm hot, there's no other raw season of pot
While most motherfuckers follow the guidelines and hit by 101"
Really hitting her stride, Dash pressed her advantage, dissing the stone-faced Guard harder than ever,
"Dash the Motor mouth decides to have fun
Not following rules, swallowing crews
Boy I toss cats off the stage, often I slay their soft raps
To all you fake dictionary emcees, get off that
Half of y'all don't understand your own rhymes and soft batch
They straight at open mics, we put them out on the street
Take away their crum beat, let 'em rhyme and they weak"
"And the mic can be a decieving device
Muffle your rhymes so they ain't clear and concise
Have niggas thinking you nice
With battle I'll crack all your gear and all your wack raps
You can't be saved by your babbling or your backpack
Doing it for the love is great but you fake
And putting your shit out is a mistake nobody wants to make"
The royal guard crooked an eyebrow as Dash took in the crowd's adoration before adjusting the microphone taped to his helmet. |
