Artist: Cappadonna f/ King Just, Money Grip, Real Life, Rush
Album:  Wu-South
Song:   Get Mine 2005
Typed by: Cno Evil

[King Just]
I'm like the phantom of the opera, last of the lobsters
The trees from the rasta, the smoke at the Oscars
Blaze at the Emmy, yo fuck the nominees
Starving artist, nigga, who spittin' rhymes like these
Please show me, youse a nigga 'pared to Kobe
Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bevery Hills, ask a foley
Fast or slowly, I leave your shirt holy
Or push a 500 like co-d, life acapulc-ky
Now ya'll niggas playing low key
Be the fake baller, and that pussy broad owe me
Rap trophy, got it, in every fucking lobby
Hit you up, my product, and we gotta split the profit
Put a record out, and I'mma stop it
West in the bank, I got it, KJ drop
Nigga cop it, I ain't got too much more to tell you
Bring ya Rambo life to Park Hill gun play
Act gay with features, and your punch lines
You want, permanent punch time from Optimus Shine
We the guidelines, promatic, calling you back
And let the world know, who taught you how to rap, you hear that?

[Money Grip]
One, two, three-in, lump out your chair
Three, five, seven, me'll leave out your hair
It's no use, call the cops nigga, know it's loose
All I'm leaving them is pulp, playing no juice
Empty out the safe, and it's condiments
Nine caught 'em til, sun light shine through 'em
Son school 'em, I order more rounds for ya
Oreo's with a little short sound for ya
Excuse you, why you steppin' to the don, for?
Gat palm, crack longer than an encore
Free and bust, try to indict, me and Crush
Cheese cops, cuz I'm in oh-deep, got
Comcast, love the way I harm tracks
Put you out there, know we got contacts
Cap peeled, tell me how that blast feel
That steel, got 'em laying in his last meal
Bezzy, vest make me look top heavy
Don't wonder on the war, you are not ready
Listen how I abuse tune, leave a body in ya backpack
It's gotta be a boom-boom

[Real Life]
Mr. John Machanro, pass the dough with a fast flow
Fidel Castro, with the lasso, roppin' you 'victs
It's portable, sick of the Source, I'm rip 'em off
From long range, scum stains on your corpse
Fear, now get in, where I fit in, stay fitted
Real Life means real living, Any Give Sunday
It's a gun day, one way
I'mma pay ya all back someday, dum dums spray
I can walk the walk, and talk the talk
Fifteen downs in the State of New York
Fucking ya whores, ya'll here suck on tour
I'll be waiting down south with a nine into your bulge
Rhymes pour, since alotta shit change in the game
I'mma re-arrange, mask style, things ain't
Gon' be the same, Homicide range
Real Life, nigga, respect my name

[Rush]
Yo, only the strong survive in this wild world of raps
Where pussy cats bunt for my rockwell raps
You can't hack this criminal style of combat
That came through, got 'em and drew on horseback
Raw hide's the way I rip guys, and then slide
Roll up and snatch yo shine, like it's mine
Yo this mine, nigga, like the thoughts from my mind
Slid your river side, like the crimson tide
You out your line of scrimmage, I'm blind to your image
Bust nuts on yo hype, all night til I'm finished
This not what we finished, I hold the world record
For knocking off eight M.C.'s in twelve seconds
You flirting with a loaded weapon, that splittling backs
Like a mack eleven, while you blastin' yo gats at heaven
I'm living like you owe me something, but really
You don't owe me nothing, I'm taking everything coming
Call me selfish, and I leave you helpless
Rotate two, and predict your pelvis
I smell shell, hit these rap niggas out there
Sniffin' in my kitchen like it's cooty in the air
You'll find nothing here but, hard rock niggas
Hard cock niggas, rob-ya-block niggas
Peel your hoe niggas, steal your dough niggas
And when I blow nigga, I'm bringin' more niggas