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Braggin' Writes
by J-Live

For underground metaphors
You can scrape an inch below the turf, for what it's worth
My style's been developed in the core of the Earth
The exhale's volcanic, the inhale is seismic

So brothers just panic when he Live one arrives with
The natural ability to run through your crew
From 2-1-4 to 2-1-3 to 2-1-2
In other words, from Dallas, to L.A., to the place where J stay

Everyday is mayday
So you can talk your trash on how you're wettin MC's
with mad blood stains but I'll bet you can't stand the rain
I look upon your brain with disdain

Go back and reflect on my endeavors black I can't complain
It's like a raw deal, consistent with the way I make you feel
The ends stay revealed while the means I conceal
And those who try to steal get decapitated

You want to snatch my H2O type flow, but it evaporated
I displays my credentials over instrumentals
And my potential, increases at a rate that's exponential
It's detrimental questioning my thesis

The penetration's exact, like amniocentesis
I rip your rhyme to pieces after draining out your fluid
My vocab is fluent yours is evident of being truant
I know you want to make moves but son you best to take a second look
Before my knight takes your rook

Cause everybody's rapping, and only few can flow
So why the hell they trying to deal with Live I don't know
I handle true MC's on their block or at their show
So if you come with bull kid, keep it on the low

Cause yo, I got the hairsplitting, self-written unbitten style
that leaves the competition running scared and shaking in their pants
You best to set it off cause black it ain't no second chance
once I'm open, all you doing is hoping that the Live one

will put the mic down, but son don't try to snatch it after
The laughter won't cease from the comparison, how dare you son
Step around the booth when I'm on
The microphone magician says poof, you're gone with the wind

There's no trace of your friends cause you don't know where the
beginning ends or where the end begins
But you see that's the difference, you get sold, I get paid
Black I told you, get paid

If you're broke I'll have to rain on your parade
You belong in Special Ed if you think you Got It Made
J-Live with the mic is like the chef with the blade
Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed

Yeah, you thought your joint was fly but the flight was delayed

[Chorus x2]


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