JWSB Bootleg #2 (Milton Brandy)

I'm a step above the rest, getting fresh off my own breath
So don't fret, a go-getter go gets his own checks
Told you, reckless with the 1-2
Neckless is the crowd when I'm venting on the prowl like I'm supposed to
Ghosts coast to coast, going postal
When they hear the joke master roasting on these cats
Battling in my mind, cause really I don't have half the time
To slice half the rhymes down to make sure these cats survive
Nah I don't want my record getting criminal
Just maybe some beatings with the black eyes for visuals
Status is critical, giving rappers rickets
When I'm spitting like a spigot, for sure that's the ricochet
These flakes getting half baked when Sam Baker flip it, man
Shaking like he making fans fake Laker tickets
The stans understand make 'em wait until the minute
That I drop what they should cop, you hear it on the block
Man my rapping's so cold that it be running from the cops
Gunning cousins with the smock on, for the slop I drop on
The folks hobnobbing 'bout the knocks that we rock on
I'm here to rotate that rock that we talk on
So go hate, rapper's heads swelling like a prostate
Hitting the remission cause they fishing with no bait
So no bite, no Mike Tyson fight
Lying guys dissing with their crying eyes pissing
But they stylized, missing, sickened demise is my obliged mission
I hide for a surprise when they find you guys knitting, smitten
Windpipes, the sky's high so climb the sides
Sounds surreal but I psych it up until the mic is cut
And even after that making heads dizzy, call it famish rap
Dishing out lavish scraps, tap into my madams
Wishing like Aladdin that I had 'em
That was back when before I was attacking all these rap dens
I took a little break but now I'm back in so clap, man