J-Live, Choclair, Etcetera, and Mr. Complex Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

[Intro: J-Live]
Jingle bells. Peace, y’all, it’s J-Live. Doing it up right now for my man Eddie Ill & D.L., you know’m saying? We got Doug and the Agony on the, on the boards right about now, you know’m saying? I got a little riddle for y’all. I want y’all to check this shit out. Bust it. Ayyo

[Verse 1: J-Live]
Ayyo, I’m trapped in the mind of a madman literally
It’s not a metaphor. Kid, pay attention
Reporting to you live from this first dimension
In a real crowded room, I just want some attention
It's pitch-black from bright like high beams at night
The silence of the noise is deafening to hear
My lifelong mission is to jockey for position
But I can't tell if I'm in the front or the rear
Formless, I don't know if I'm a circle or square
Let alone solid, liquid, or air. I'm completing
Myself but can't confirm or deny if I'm actually here
It’s quite a fucked-up predicament, yeah
I feel at home but I got to escape this paradox
In a box. I'm intent to solve this mystery
I'm made up of dreams and nightmares, soliloquies
Dialogues, arguments, fantasies, imagery
Memories, symmetry, alcohol, history
Love, life, death, joy, remorse, and sympathy
Actions, wishes, reacting, and hoping
And every time a beat comes on, the door opens
An out-of-nonbody, in experience, is showing me
Jetting for the entrance, the exit, the outlet
I'm traveling through veins, blood vessels, and muscle tissue
‘Til it goes pitch-black, and I still don't know if I'm out yet
I’ll wake up from the blackout, finish with the race
Confined in a two-dimensional blank space
Looking back on my original birth place
Now taking the shape of a young black face
Parts of my physical erased then replaced
What was sight and sound is now feel and taste
Ital and fruit punch laced with toothpaste
I'm shot from a cannon with amazing grace
My identity revealed with the mystery solved
I see my purpose in life as I travel through time
Riding the beat through audio wires, recordings, and air
Waves, ears, and minds, I'm a J-Live rhyme

[Verse 2: Choclair]
Yo, I either come
Grizzed out or pimped out. If I get twisted
Bone a chick in a treehouse with just socks on
Type of brother start dancing when these lights turn on
I never beat around the bush ‘cause then these things go long
Same song, people on, but I’m against the grain
I’ll stand Solitair and marvelously shock your brain
You’re looking corny like some cameos without no fade
So you rap for enjoyment. I rap for employment
It pays me and sways me, travels me and takes me
Pays me weekly and gets my dick sucked daily
Your whole army? It couldn’t fuck with my entourage
And all your hits and all your button-downs are camouflage
And while you’re doing shows, your boys camcord
I’ll be on tour, in suites, getting boned by freaks
You’ll be at picnics, trying to ball like you’re sweet
With your music loud, flossing like you ten G’s a week
For real, your shit’s weak, boy. The world’s mine
I got you scared like you talking, “Candyman,” five times
You look up in the window and reflection is mine
Put my dick in your bitch while I’m back and unwind
So nothing you could say could ever faze me. I’ll say it again
Nothing you could say could ever faze me. Say my things
Twice—just in case, the first time, you didn’t hear me
Spunk up in your eyes so you could see the shocks clearly
Nasty As I Wanna Be, a Luke fan forever
And green niggas always seem to have the vendettas
Well, critics on the didick, you could suck it ‘til it’s spinach
And girls who weren’t down who see me now, well, you could quit it
I guess I would be chilling, but some niggas just forget it
I’m still the same kid from T-Dot, so don’t forget it

[Verse 3: Etcetera]
Yo, it’s Etcetera coming ten steps ahead of ya
We said that-a, “We’ll rip your whole clique, rush your competitors”
Your crew’s out with so few styles, but you better, uh
Alert your blocks we coming like them convicted pedophiles
We staying blazing and amazing like Luther up in Aruba with a
[?] and six shorties doing the hula
Creating flows that’ll damage our foes like body blows
To the left lung, causing it to collapse like them stretched tongue
Who next, son? Rip the sick rhyme but can I kick mines?
So hot when I spit, them pricks wan’ examine my enzymes
My goal is: stay in this game for three-and-change
With the same aim. The brother’s brain drains like hole in membranes
Then bail and unveil with a label that reeks endurance
‘Til everything that me and my style copped got insurance
Until then, we gon’ make it hard for y’all to sit bars
That are half-assed like cavils or moldy apples of garbage
I take time in every line and, when it’s all said, I write
I’ma make y’all all freeze like deers in truck headlights
What?

[Interlude 1: Mr. Complex]
Uh, uh huh. Uh huh huh, yeah. Uh huh huh, what? Eddie Ill, yeah. D.L., uh. It’s Complex, yeah. Check it out, yo

[Verse 4: Mr. Complex]
See, I can’t be getting
Caught in shootouts. I got rhymes to write
People to excite, flights to catch, portraits to sketch
Masterpieces to piece together, concepts to create and better
The earth is my oysture. I’m keeping hip hop in a Ziploc
To preserve the moisture. I’m so Fresh like Doug E
I’m so skilled out, you bug me when you tell your crew you could
Take me out, I’m like, “Out like how? Out, like, with a pow?
Or out with a freestyle? Well, you’re off, like, a whole mile
And a whole lot of kilometers, killer.” I’m iller than Barney Fife
Barney Rubble, and Barney Miller—even that purple motherfucker
I’m running circles around a motherfucker. I’ll wear out the grass
In your ass. Plus, my surplus will surpass your mass
My mere crumbs’ll feed your whole fam. Plus, there’s leftovers
Know who the fuck I am? It’s Complex [?]
Slap your ass. My rhymes weave in and out your skin and make
A stitch ‘til it’s sewn, ‘til your mind is blown. Then I can
Go the fuck home

[Outro: Mr. Complex]
Like that and [?], y’all. Come on, yeah. [?], yeah. It’s like that, y’all. Eddie Ill & D.L., Complex, what?