The Plague Freestyle (Frank151: That Grown Man)

Frank151 ft. The Plague (ft. Blitzkrieg, GMS, and Keith “WildChild” Middleton) - “The Plague Freestyle (Frank151: That Grown Man)”
[Produced by [?]]

[Verse 1: Blitzkrieg]
I’m a king with it. You’re clever like [?]
No matter what city you rep, my city is better
No matter style you use, you’re shitty forever
Can’t fuck with Blitzkrieg—bitch, please. The Plague, nigga
[?] tables filled with lords and nobleman
Niggas all taking a bite the heads off Dobermans
So we win before we start, so the cry is outrageous
The truth hurts and The Plague is (so contagious)
[?] make it straight to the majors
We fighters of haters, trying the idiotic to take us
We move it and shake it. You losing and faking. You motherfuckers
Holding grudges like [?] used to do The Lakers
Groupies who choose to face us that will lose their status
Their place is in line. Equipped with the shine, we bruise their faces
Rude ‘cause they knew that we laced it and what they doing
Is basic and that’s the basis of the reason they hate us
We patiently waited. Fuck it now. Ain’t doing no favors
In wars that we’re waging, you’re being hit by pages for ages
Your bravest battlers are pussy—just bend over and take it
We out of the game and the killers headed straight for the stages

[Verse 2: GMS]
I don’t give
A fuck what you splitting up, what guns you be picking up
Nuns you be sticking for funds to be as rich as us
Style, you can get with us. Sick enough to spit with us
(Low) Got you sitting up, (Low) got you spitting up
Blood from the fisticuffs. Try and stick me up
Brag about it in a bar, leave with your fist in cuffs
In your little squad, you’re a god. You a bitch to us
Dream that you roll with Gang Green, but you missed the bus
On tour, we rip it up. You looking for dick to suck
Hold up (Pause). The Plague swarm up
My crew’s enormous, freestyles are flawless
From streets to tour bus, clutch the cordless
Mic checks, the four of us spit flames, tore it up
Ask your boy, call him up. Competition washed up
Rhymes ain’t [?]. Pinocchio emcees
Ground up to sawdust—you’re just in all of us
Sort of a rush. Your whore will get touched, falling
In lust. It’s more than a crush, all in the nuts
So what you saw of us? Heard of us? The nerve of us
So impervious, blood-curdlers. Who’s serving us?
Slow burglars try to escape with my words and catch
Hernias. Chop you down like axe murderers

[Verse 3: Keith “WildChild” Middleton]
Yo, you don’t have the facts. When I battle cats
My tongue’s half acrobat, half battle axe: flip and swing
Matter fact, after that, rip and bring back a sack
I’ll cap mine in cataract—they ain’t seeing Jack
Be nimble off of instrumentals, swell a fella’s melon off
An acapella, sell a felon’s dwelling on some mozzarella
I’m the realest villain, chilling, thrilling Cinderella
Group is stellar, move more cheddar than Switzerland bank tellers
You know the name numb shit like Novocain
WildChild [?] things that you never overcame
I’ll rip the crowd right, spit a round of spikes, shifty
Bounce tight, work out every day with fifty-pound mics
Aaah! The ambidextrous, right-to-left
Just like a light there when there are no exits
Pitch-black. Get back, be careful where you stepping
The Plague’s sick cats spread, they leaving you breathless
Haven’t you heard? I’m stabbing with words. My daggers’ll
Burn you, stinging your nerve, you average nerd
Get back in the curb. Cats have been served—attack ‘em like germs
We catching a burn, like pachyderms smashing you worms
I’ll work that, bringing the hunger and the thirst back
Research that like a break Kool Herc scratched
Emerge back with a verse spat on unnerved cats
2Pac and Biggie be like, “Damn, did he rehearse that?”