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Diss Track Mix Tape, vol. 1

Cirrus, turn up that beat from up there in the clouds, brotha.

Ye, there it is.
Let’s do.


When the cost of war is high
You best raise the prophet.
This battle royale full of bitches, they ain’t shit.
A whole lotta suckers calling out, they ain’t sick.
Shut your fuckin’ mouth if you gonna speak that nonsense.


CJ Thorpe you say you’re anti authority.
But now you’re in the minority,
And seen as pejorative by the majority.


Max Meadows is a trans-criminal.
Takes a sip from his canned seminal.
Dresses up like a damn imbecile.
Queer as fuck, it’s damn clinical.
Got a little dick, looks like a vape pen
Hangs out with the inmates and tries to rape men.
Butt first, spreads his butt cheeks and backs up violently.
And what I do? Rape his ass quietly.


Aster Gray’s a bi-deathual,
Stays in between two poles.
Bitch, wrap your lips around both of them and pull.
What’s it matter to me if a pussy dead or alive?
I’ll eat the pussy ‘til my belly full.
And if the pussy tries to haunt me
I’ll give him a new shell, between the eyes
And take the rest of the pussy’s nine lives.
I’ll give him Hell, between the alpha and Omega of the Prophet’s rise.


Amataga Tuga down here in death row teaching math.
Got a decahedron of dicks inside his ass.
Monsters are supposed to be scary,
But how can I be afraid of a man who cries in his cell every time I pass?
“Wah, I miss my brother! Give me something to suck on!”
Say no more- here, grab the Prophet’s staff.
See Tuga, I can bring you comfort, I can end your pain,
If only you had the capacity for change.
But in the end you suffer, in the end the rain
Falls from your eyes and your facade’s washed away.


Nox you smoke crack rocks and black cocks, what a coincidence.
I got what you smoke in my pants, come get a hit.
That gas mask on your ass face
Is to not smell your own waste.
But frankly your breath only indicates
What everyone already knows:
Your teeth brushed with butt paste.
Next time you make a chemical reaction,
Make sure it happens in a lab, not your ass then.


What’s in the box?
One thousand cocks
That you had thought
Looked just like Cade’s
But now you are locked
Inside a box-
Inside a hell-
That you create.
If you think even for a second
I’ma let you get ahead mate,
You will find yourself six feet
under death row in a red grave.


hAyWiRe you’re wearing lipstick and smiling like a buffoon.
Got dropped on your head one too many times and the circus had to cut you loose.
You’re a criminal without motive,
A killer without cause.
A spotlight without a showman,
A clown without applause.


Y’all niggas on Death Row just got executed with tha truth.


Diss tracks, the mix tape volume 1.


Shout out, The Truth.


Shout out, all my believers.


We ‘bout to run Death Row, you already know.