Stretch Armstrong Freestyles

[Royce Da 5'9"]
Stretch Stretch.. (Whassup sup?)
I'm tryin to figure out a way to start this rhyme off (Mmm)
You ain't got no ideas? (Nah)
Aight, I'll start it like this (Aight)
Check it, yo

{*P. Diddy's "Bad Boy for Life" beat plays*}

FUCK, you! (haha) I'm all nuts, no glory
You're walkin now but nigga what's the story?
You better, duck when I go BOOM, cause suckers bore me
And yeah, I probably hate Tommy Boy as much as Nore do
Who the best? Eminem, Jigga or Nas?
Cause when it comes lottery time, that spot'll be mines
You takin the throne is under the bridge
And yeah, you might be +Ready to Die+ but none of you +Big+
So, you've been dared to listen
'til the fiercest rhythm'll spit air condition glitter and wrist cool
FUCK doom, I don't age
Cut "Boom" up loud and see a mushroom cloud on stage {*explosion*}
Do the math, four knuckles'll give you six months
And, you niggas is so pussy you make my dick jump (haha)
I don't wish to be king, I'll pass the throne
Whatever shines too bright shines half as long
I don't kiss hoes, I only put my lips on a cup
Pee-wee niggas, go somewhere and piss on your nuts (haha)
God gave me this life, and if he decides to envy and give me
I'm takin the flow of the century with me
Oh, so if you feel insane, and want a war
Reality check, you not ready, your soldiers is still in trainin
A bunch of hundreds that'll read the menu
We run tabs with receipts sayin "To be continued.."
And - bully niggas this is your day
Meet me at the flagpole so you can hit me in my fists with your face
And snitch niggas is common as E-Bay wear
Uhh, give the cops more +Alerts+ than DJ Red
I got the blood of a dead soldier, on my palms
And the scent of yo' bitch lingerin on my fingertips
And you niggas is deep, I got a deep barrel that'll blaze
So FUCK deep, the deep shall lay in a shallow grave
For you deep niggas

{*beat switches to Lord Tariq & Peter Gunz' "What's That Sound?"*}

Uhh.. {Stretch Armstrong is now in your world..}

Yo, I determine what time it's on, I call my nigga Proof
Hand him a pint of Limon and turn him loose!
I'm tired of you new jacks
I'm tired of niggas sayin they bout to blow
'Less you a bitch, I don't care if you bout do that
Move back, youngster, the Glock gon' speak
Chew up your vest and turn your chest hair to taco meat!
The street, continuous to pit, too quick to smash ya
Or flash the clip, or give you the picture develop
The click clock, six shots blows through another door
And it gets hot, this Hip-Hop Quotable tug of war
Who did ya niggas beats you bitches, who made it work?
That shit was {*phwrt!*}, I got harder 2-Way alerts
You get toe-up and re-torn; by the walkin bomb
That I blow up and re-form, grow up then re-born
Told you I'm a star that's gon' live forever
Servin life sentence and get out and go to the bar
So nigga take BLLAT! I gotta go to the car
BLLAT, oh BLLAT! I gotta throw it in 'park'
The iron'll wet ya - the Mausberg pump
With the buckshots shells'll turn a nigga into Chinese Checkers
I don't even start writin 'til I'm on my third 5th
That's what you get, when Beatminers meet the Wordsmiths
Uhh, every time I go out, I cop somethin new
Every time I throw this right hand I knock somethin loose
Who the fuck think they can see me? Might as well
Call the wife and tell her you're not comin home and to take it easy
My guns don't shoot, they WOOF!
At them sissy-ass niggas type to accidentally shoot they foot
Desert Eagle too big for you bitch-ass niggas
Soft-ass palms, can't take the kickback niggas
And you wonder why they suckin my dick
Or why I keep a suitcase with a hundred grand handcuffed to my wrist
Or why the watch could possibly make you lose your sight blinkin
On the wrist, lookin like halogen hazard lights blinkin
Royce 5-9 in this bitch
About to sprinkle gunfire on any snitch
Now who the fuck want it, bitches?

Yeah, uhh, uhh