Swave Sevah, Kwest Tha Madd Lad, and Percee P Freestyle (A Long Rhyme Coming: The 1999 to 2002 Sessions Pt. 1)

[Intro: Swave Sevah]
Yeah, yeah, lacing this track one time for my man Eddie Ill & D.L. Yeah, it’s Cvees and Swave Sevah. I’m coming at ya, got my shit together. Yo, yo, 2G like this. Yo, yo, yo

[Verse 1: Swave Sevah]
I keep asking myself this question that I’m having
Problem-solving: why, when emcees see me, they stop bragging?
Could it be that they know already Swave Sevah is deadly?
Integrity, aggressively as success for the gang longevity
Better show respect for anyone who decide their destiny
And all that trying to step to me is really not affecting me
But peep the recipe. The chef emcee is slicing and sautéing
Seasoning, cooking, and burning those niggas disobeying
Not feeling what I’m saying, so I guess I
Got to tell the tale of the maniac microphone molester
Deliberately, I’ll spark more wizardry than Uncle Fester
And take the liberty to battle rappers for whatever
But, still, I’ll get one who say they don’t have to taste the entrée
But it seems like niggas always want to learn the hard way
So when I boost up, be prepared to throw your dukes up
I’m sick of you acting like you tough when you’re a fruit cup
Call your clique, you’ll be a dead man before your troops come
The members of my fam will kindly dismiss the rude one
Prone from flipping and domes splitting like lobotomies
My lyrical colony will turn your death threats to apologies
My mic is like a lethal contraption, so think
Hard before y’all asses all end up eternally relaxing
It’s my turn, let the track blend. You’ll get burned
When the wax spin, but you must learn what you slacking
And I’m here to demonstrate the way my rhymes eliminate
Penetrate your chest, make you do breath of hyperventilate
Verbally making some people and nerves incinerate
Fucking with Cvees, kid, you’ll get served like dinner plates
Just like that

[Interlude 1: Kwest Tha Madd Lad]
Uh, just like that. Mmm. Kwest, Queens. Uh. What?

[Verse 2: Kwest Tha Madd Lad]
Check my last ass-whipping recipient
I’ll rip shit lickety–split. My liquidy spit
Quickly hits. What I sputter’s butter like Skippy or Jif
More spliffs make more skits come at mass acceleration
Causing massive celebration as my ass excels the spaceship
When my mind warms and finds focus, I’ll swarm like locusts
On fields of wheat. The weak feel the heat and see who the jokers are
My raps get so graphic like bashing brains with hatchets
My tactics will cause a racket once you crack open my packet
I’ll separate spines from minds when intertwined with rhymes
Sit Fox fast when I blast shit—I’m way ahead of your time
Climbing on clouds, styling, disemboweling gods with howling
Throw the towel in when I kick like sick sounds from Shaolin
Aw shoot. I thought you knew. I also won’t say, “Who?” when you mention me
Been holding these technices in for centuries. I’ll mention these
Wack rappers like blacks should do back of the crackers
Plus, my hit’ll smack up rappers counting backwards. When I attack words
I’m invisible. In my physical, I’m indivisible
Like nations under God. Make you wonder: God, is He real or fiction?
The diction kicks in, causing friction like a backspin
My erratic actions cut you to a fraction. On instrumentals
I’ll use my intricate mental sort of like a pencil
Stenciling out simple sentences and leaving temples dimpled
Your ass is in a casket, asking for aspirin. You’re sweet
Your beast keep it saccharine, she’ll blast it masculine

[Interlude 2: Percee P]
Uh, uh. Uh, uh, uh. Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh. Supply the checks

[Verse 3: Percee P]
Known from Cali, Chi to LAX. My respect and styles
Some try to get, but die direct from the side effects
You crave Perc’ ‘cause I'm well-equipped with predicate
You’re too delicate for this fellow—flip, kid, you’d better get saved first
Call freaks—pretty, no flawed feet, all sweet—small peeks
'Cause my Stocks Exchanged, they're Wall-Street-stealer-slick
Kicking the illest hits. Who kill us quick
When our building spit more rounds than Bruce Willis flicks?
Ideas and flow raise eyelids—that's why kids make hybrid
Rhymes supplied with stuff this guy did years ago
To grasp a taste, have to place ‘em in a glass or case
And observe from a NASA space center with a mask on face
Sharp as machete blades. Swear to God
Only card you will pull is Medicaid. Remain clean
I clean teams that became fiends, strange [?]
Go through vein streams, leave gangrene. My name rings bells
Sick of you. Shit you do is predictable. Kick a few
On your cut like a ritual. Piece words incredible
Some said I do sound like a clever few that’s poetical
Theoretical—nah, kid, you better do research
Thousand short, files in court said I reproduce
So many from my styles, I’m fought for child support
Better shit, I’m clever with stuff fighters never did, except it gets
Hot like a beverage. Those that never hit need leverage