Jane Doe and Ray Rip Ya’ll Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

[Intro: Jane Doe]
Uh. Jane Doe, Eddie Ill & D.L. Tape 4. Jane Doe double EP coming. Jane Doe. Uh huh

[Verse 1: Jane Doe]
As I cross these bits, scoring with an assist
Time hang from my wrist, rupturing like a cyst
Jane Doe, nigga. We build songs with mathematics
Flowing is automatic. Now it’s laced with graphics
It’s tragic. Wack bitches want to see me
I cancel their rhymes like shows from TV
Supreme being or the lyrical Elohim
The rap queen, whether it’s clean or obscene
Niggas get weened. I stay taking breath
‘Cause I speak that shit you feel under your left breast
I confess I’m tormented by demons
My mom got shot up with some bad semen
Straight from the Devil, I elevate one level
Pussy stay getting wet from the bass and the treble
I’m a slave to the rhythm—it’s in my bloodline
I got more rhymes than cops at election time
You heard me on Tribe, then it was Black Star
My Reflection’s Eternal like a new car
I shine. Ain’t no need to say more
I’m just a opening act but I stole a whole tour
Motherfucker

[Verse 2: Ray Rip Ya’ll]
Omega shatter, flow underwater to breathe
Force you to genuflect ‘til you develop fluid on your knees
My impact is like a tremendous hard punch that cause
An irregular beating, but, to me, it’s just a regular beating. I failed
To understand reasoning since a seedling
Beating, so where’s you mom with that evil rhythm? Sitting
In Hell, freezing with the most wrap/rap while my rhymes
Crumble ecosystems. After we inhale
Your metropolis, we let it settle in. A high-yellow nigga
With magic melanin that transform to metal skin
That give a fuck about your death threat. My vital organs
Are bulletproof with a force field over your headset
Crush your spinal tap down to your ass crack
Crushing you down like NASDAQ. Perhaps you should
Reconsider that tone of voice of yours, or I’ll be forced
To unleash the heat I hold to melt your vocal cords
It’s the [?] cut from the same
Mold that shaped the mighty Zeus and Apollo
Frame built like an ’87 Volvo with poetic novels
You full of shit? I’ll still make you feel hollow
You can’t wait for me to bust—you’re all ready to swallow
But, see, I don’t have a gimmick for y’all to follow
Wasn’t born with crazy game. Besides, I don’t hold
Guns right—I got a lazy aim but I spit rapid
Fire rhymes that connect like daisy chains
All my dawgs are losing, I’ll put gunpowder in their gravy train
To bite a chunk out your ass. You’re so bitch
You should retain a maiden name, motherfucker