Braggin Writes

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 the live one arrives with

The natural ability to run through your crew

From 214 to 213 to 212

In other words, from Dallas, to L.A., to the place where J stay

Everyday is mayday

So you can talk your shit on how you're wettin' MC's

With mad blood stains, but I'll be you can stand the rain

I'm looking on your brain with distain

Go back and reflect on my endeavors, black, I can't complain

It's like some new shit, 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 wanna snatch my H2O type flow, that shit evaporated

I displays my credentials over instrumentals

And my potential increases at a rate that's exponential

It's detrimental fuckin' with my thesis

The penetration's exact, like amniocentesis

I rip you shit to pieces after draining out your fluid

My vocab is fluent, yours is evident of being truant

I know you wanna make moves, but son, you best to take a second look

Before my knight takes your rook

'Cause everybody 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 got some bullshit, please keep it on the low

'Cause, yo, I got the hair-splitting, self-written, unbitten style

That leaves the competition scared, and shitting 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 a chef with the blade

'Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed

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

Because everybody 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 got some bullshit please keep it on the low

Yes, everybody's rapping, and can't nobody 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 got some bullshit please keep it on the low

'Cause, yo, I take the brain matter of pretenders

Through my mental blender, and then return to sender

My pen don't pretend to offend

I intend to render MC's hanging loos like a fender bender

I recommend regardless of your gender

That you strike fucking with J-Live from your agenda

And remember whoever lends a helping hand to defend ya

Will get burnt to a cinder

As I end the reign of wack MC's with their suicidal tendencies

Rendering my sick with the thoughts of killing enemies

But then I return to reality

Metaphorically murdering MC's when they battle me

You can't rattle me

I'm not your average snake slithering through the grass

I surpass the serpent as I head to class

You consider me crass as I wax that ass, styles no joke

But you best believe I gets the last laugh