Ridiculous

Chorus:

When I rhyme just a little bit, Everybody’s feeling it/

Making sure the rhythm is hitting when I be killing it/

Really, I make a chicken wanna get with this/

Baby, say my name, “TONEDEFF”, that kid is ridiculous.

V1

It is un-fucking-believable, whenever I proceed to besiege beats/

With a mean streak, lacing tracks phatter than sneakers in Beat Street/

Seeing to it that each week I’ve agreed to defeat the weakest of MCs/

Including G’s with Keys, Cheese & Bentley’s/

Guaranteed to receive a high degree of status/

Due to my steeze using this aparatus, toss rappers like faggots do salads/

Staggered by the amount of malice that I’ve managed to average/

Any MC grabbing this mic after me is needing their hands bandaged/

Master mechanic, assembling verses/

I’ll be jerking your purse, return with a smirk and a proof of purchase/

Im verbally perfect, and I’m assertive when I serve who deserves it/

Y’all coming up short, you’ve got smurfs in the circus nervous/

I’ve been alerted you’ve heard this, pounding with crazy shit/

With a tendency to hurt kids… don’t allow me to babysit/

The compounding’s amazing it’s slated to change the face of this/

Restoring the fear of skills in you lyrical aetheists.

V2

I’m rearranging the game we play with a blazing array of ways/

To display dismay and decay on the faces of fakes that say/

They be claiming to turn the page, when they’re plainly afraid of change/

So, like God with a laptop… I’ll be saving the day/

Never the one to disgrace a blank stage or stay in the same place/

Aiming to lay waste to these snakes that ain’t vacating the 48 states/

And Locating them in the other 2. Making em pay/

Blatantly taking away their weight and then gaining a W/

And then I be coming through with a nastiness/

That ain’t been seen since your girl came clean, and really revealed just who the daddy is/

Happiness is rapping and splacking chicks/

I dominate tricks, and turn pimps into pacifist masochists/

The most tactical activist and Im letting the world know/

These cats is more half-ass than the award show that the source throw/

Feats are Herculean like Kevin Sorbo/

The lyrical Zorro, carving initials into your torso.

V3

Im a man on a mission/

Skills on the mic don’t equate to your paper chase or the hate you place in your ammunition/

It’s fact or fiction, I’m acting towards your abolition/

I’m cracking you ghost just to battle you’re fractured apparition/

Rhythms I map with hand crafted precision/

No longer will I tolerate these cats that’s fraudulent like Darva Conger/

To be famous for 2 minutes/

When their whole delivery comes off flatter that a 12-year-old female gymnist/

They have neither the capacity or the fitness… for instance/

These cats be thinking they’re ill just cause they’ve got syphilis/

I come prepared with a quickness/

Their boys could testify nude for them in a courtcase and wouldn’t bare witness/

Competition best to be scared shitless/

I’ll sever their legs and toss a ruler in front of em… see if they go the distance/

This is readily on my wishlist/

Like, sticking a chick that be sipping the tip of my dick until she’s lipless/

The gist is it only takes a second to diss ya/

Bitch, you couldn’t match wits if you cloned a twin of Alicia/

With lesser odds of winning with a militia/

Blackmailing your bitch, telling her that I’m gonna send you the picture/

Of me and her playing strip-twister/

These are the consequences you face when your only aim in the game is to get richer/

Making intelligence legitimate when I be spitting it/

You may be hard but you’re lyrically impotent/

And I’ve been ripping shit since square one/

Persistence in killing insolence like when women insist to get their hair done/

I tear the sun out the sky if it’s hogging my shine/

If a track is ill, then it’s probably mine.