Sixteen-Bar Massacre by Kyd T.E.R.R.O.R. Lyrics
[Verse 1]
And I step into the booth, ready to spit the truth
Like I've many a loose tooth, not too bad for a youth
So here's the damn proof, that you cannot sooth
The fucking beast who has been released, it's about to be a feast
Searching for MCs who're about to be deceased
As my skill increases lyrically, I spit so prodigiously
Typically, you're not even on the same level as me
You think you're better than me? Enough of the damn prattle
Your battle with me was a recipe for disaster
I'm the young flow master with rhymes that spit faster
So better pray to your pastor before you face disaster, you bastard
Cause I got the flow, rhymes, and metaphors mastered
With the sword in my hand, I kill you right where you stand
And take your bitch for a one night stand
Or better yet, two actually
My swag is dressed casually
Check the rhyme strategy, cause this is pure savagery
[Hook]
All you lames think about the money ya'll make
But if you look at it this way, your niggas are all fake
So please retire for my sake, and leave the shit I'm 'bout to take
While I begin smashin ya, it's the Sixteen-Bar Massacre
Catch me in the booth, or your girl in my bedroom
While you hear the bed squeaking as I ride her going 'vroom'
Oh, you said you wanted some? Hold up, son, I ain't even done
Smashing her, she know about the Sixteen-Bar Massacre
[Verse 2]
Flow so ninja, got you disappearin in a puff of smoke/
No other nigga can compete with the sick rhymes I wrote/
Last night, that's right, I'm the f**kin black knight/
I'm the next B.I.G., smoke the mic like a crack pipe/
Except I don't get shot, my flow's too hot/
And you're not, what the blood clot? Nigga, I got a lot/
Of pot, but I don't smoke though/
It's no joke, my flow so cold like sub-zero/
Shoot your ass for the dinero/
Ya'll f**kin laughed at me, that's when I go Carrie (carry)/
Your dead bodies to the graveyard, and that's where you're buried/
Yeah, I'm so f**kin scary, I might just f**kin marry/
Frankenstein's bride, by my side, and pop her f**kin cherry/
Bass, drum, snare, hi-hats, and the melody/
Composition of beats is like I'm committing felonies/
All you lames can't overcome your jealousy/
Of me, cause ya'll some singers like Fiona, Melanie/
And I step into the booth, ready to spit the truth
Like I've many a loose tooth, not too bad for a youth
So here's the damn proof, that you cannot sooth
The fucking beast who has been released, it's about to be a feast
Searching for MCs who're about to be deceased
As my skill increases lyrically, I spit so prodigiously
Typically, you're not even on the same level as me
You think you're better than me? Enough of the damn prattle
Your battle with me was a recipe for disaster
I'm the young flow master with rhymes that spit faster
So better pray to your pastor before you face disaster, you bastard
Cause I got the flow, rhymes, and metaphors mastered
With the sword in my hand, I kill you right where you stand
And take your bitch for a one night stand
Or better yet, two actually
My swag is dressed casually
Check the rhyme strategy, cause this is pure savagery
[Hook]
All you lames think about the money ya'll make
But if you look at it this way, your niggas are all fake
So please retire for my sake, and leave the shit I'm 'bout to take
While I begin smashin ya, it's the Sixteen-Bar Massacre
Catch me in the booth, or your girl in my bedroom
While you hear the bed squeaking as I ride her going 'vroom'
Oh, you said you wanted some? Hold up, son, I ain't even done
Smashing her, she know about the Sixteen-Bar Massacre
[Verse 2]
Flow so ninja, got you disappearin in a puff of smoke/
No other nigga can compete with the sick rhymes I wrote/
Last night, that's right, I'm the f**kin black knight/
I'm the next B.I.G., smoke the mic like a crack pipe/
Except I don't get shot, my flow's too hot/
And you're not, what the blood clot? Nigga, I got a lot/
Of pot, but I don't smoke though/
It's no joke, my flow so cold like sub-zero/
Shoot your ass for the dinero/
Ya'll f**kin laughed at me, that's when I go Carrie (carry)/
Your dead bodies to the graveyard, and that's where you're buried/
Yeah, I'm so f**kin scary, I might just f**kin marry/
Frankenstein's bride, by my side, and pop her f**kin cherry/
Bass, drum, snare, hi-hats, and the melody/
Composition of beats is like I'm committing felonies/
All you lames can't overcome your jealousy/
Of me, cause ya'll some singers like Fiona, Melanie/