Yo anon, spit something dadaist.
>>63600297
rezeew
First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim
Westside when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife
We bust on Bad Boys, niggas fucked for life
Plus Puffy tryna see me, weak hearts I rip
Biggie Smalls and Junior M.A.F.I.A. some mark-ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for your jewels
Steady gunning, keep on busting at them fools
You know the rules
Lil' Caesar go ask you homie how I'll leave you
Cut your young ass up, leave you in pieces
Now be deceased
Little Kim, don't fuck around with real G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets
So fuck peace
I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the Westside ride the night
Bad Boy murdered on wax and killed
Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
You know
the I I and the and I I O U and. The Thee fuck shit cum cube the the the mile long Nile
>>63600297
Holy fucking niggers that's a good eleven, man.
Did you even see that upside down guy truck go past us?
I WAS BORN IN NOVEMBER
NINETEEN SIXTY THREE
THE DAY ELVIS HUXLEY DIED
QUICK AND BLOATED
Hot rodder's borrowed beam loomed over the corpuscle seconds before his bought bulldozer spontaneously disassembled itself to the delight of your speculative eyes only recently returned to you but cleaner and more sparkling than before.
Ey guise, rate my rap
>Chink bitch slit like two strips of wok beef
>Clip in my gat yo my whole squad, it got beef
>Shoot out then eat out your bitch with these croc teeth
>I be ben ten, dome or pen i got these
>Kiddies stuck in mud when i turn to a kanji
>And you know you can't merk me with your whole darn army
allies prisoners escape armed
civilian police scouring war
wide troops French swiftly
ports men prisoner-of-war
near war who camp
search ports on telegraph
time push armies from Cowra yesterday morning
FAST AND BULBOUS
>>63600297
>dadaist
I swear this is gonna be the new meme word.
SCREENCAP THIS.
The quippy goon gargled gaseos elements converted to volumetric liquid-esque substances with the intent of warrenting the licence for a singular chromatic disembowelment conjecture. A man's man, he only viewed this as tubular and crooked, whilst existing simultaneously trigonal, though imperfect at a perspective of his inorganic viewing patterns. Backlash happens to happen only happening through the goo covered flat glass of the cylindrical sixteenth dimention pondering wise cracker, whom offers anti paradoxical leather bound remarks recieved through one of those fleshy wind manipulators. The goon couldn't convert which granted him a one way yellow wheel contraption into a real by reel lengthy life antonym.
What in the warehouse is playing so smooth, got a bat and some asphalt, baking in the wind.
>dadaist
FLORI FLORI FLORI FLORI FLORIDA
f.y.vitri6ttmjh.,
fidtey nine to the gallon
a spot on the hip
she swings
it goes
pigs bake in the sun
The peddler and his raincoat ran up to the duck master's lay, pictured square jawed and red like an ole Squaw Indian.
He showed the peddler his Black Resined hair ball collection which only he had seen, eyes squint, fumes of smoke from the duck masters pipe soot and ash rained, peckin his nose like one of Santas's elves.
The Ole...Duck Master shook in childish jubilation as his dreams had come to fruition, wore his coat of green feathers and snapped his beak like Mary from reform school.
Down to the river, a spear to the mud and back to his hiding. The Indian Layed his eggs.
>>63600477
Lol
>>63600678
Cool>>63601405
Agreed
Zappa was too right-wing to be dadaist.
I'd Roddy Piper the shit out of UFC 1. As soon as the bell rings, immediate nut shot. Just constant nut shots like I'm spamming the nut shot button.
You want to box, you Pearl Jam entrance music using action hero? Eye pokes everywhere. So many eye pokes that a child version of Rousimar Palhares has his jaw on the floor as the cast of NYPD Blue dusts my fingerprints off of your iris.
As soon as he tries to grapple. Boom, welcome to my incredibly greased body that feels like trying to grab soap off of a state pen shower floor. I'd have so much grease on my body that the lighting fixtures would give me 2nd degree burns as I slide to the ring like Silver Surfer, comic book verson. I'd be so hard to get a hold of that my opponent would think I'm Jimmy Hoffa's body.
Going for your stupid sumo palm strikes? Say goodbye to your knee caps as I dropkick them in like a SWAT member busting down a door, wooden frame still intact, unsuspecting drug dealer sprinting through the back door.
Want to over power me, DJ Jazzy Jeff? Look out for my newly cycled off slab of meat body with more holes in my ass than Interstellar has in it's plot. I'd lift you up like you're Simba in a VHS release of Lion King and slam you down like a pog on a schoolyard playground, chalk outline around your gi. I'd have so many drugs running through me that the CIA wouldn't know whether to open up an X-men branch or sell me to the Rolling Stones so they could snort me.
I'd last at least 3 minutes. No doubt in my mind.
