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You Must Be High C (ABL vs C. Wrighter)
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I can see C like a dirt bike, in the Play-Offs.
rap beats battle dzk warbux nimrod diss game
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dope shit, bitch
was born in 1985 as Zachary Martin, son to a business woman and a jazz musician. Homeschooled until 6th grade, Zac was exposed to things many kids his age were never aware of. Whether marching through the crowded streets of Washington D.C. alongside his mother or sitting in his father's lap while he played guitar, Zac was always taught to pursue his dreams to the best of his ability. , and recorded his first album. Containing 100% original material produced entirely by himself on a Casio piano and recorded with a dynamic mic and a rebuilt 486 PC computer, was his first attempt to contribute to the world of hip-hop that he loved so much. even parodied Em's current hit of the time "The Real Slim Shady" in a not-so-subtle mockery of the comparisons, due only to skin color. Although the album lacked any serious demand, those that did hear it took to numerous songs. a slow and dragging anthem to society's need for intoxicants, got the most attention. Although the quality of the mix was "complete and utter amatuer dog shit," as put it, the quality of the lyrics is what got the most mention. got back to work and made the rough draft of a mixtape called depicting competing against the angel of death in a battle of wits and childhood games for his soul, is still hailed as one of his most original and comical tracks to date and was immediatly taken to by fans when he leaked a rough copy to the net. said in an interview. 's discology is only at a whopping 2 final products. The second effot by Zac, , was finished and released in winter of 2004. The title poked fun at rappers who would memorize verses so they could spit them in cipher like they were freestyles. remembers, chuckling. and got the attention of those who had yet to discover 's music, and got rave reviews from friends and fans. His mix of social consciousness and witty one liners combined with precise alliteration quickly made his sound unique, and he's kept busy since. became a music enrichment teacher for the Akron Public School system, and taught afterschool classes to middleschool children in over half the district over the course of two years. Focusing on the instrumentalization of is music during that time, he produced something for almost everyone he's worked with. He now runs a site where he sells his production and allows people to preview his works. has already made it clear that 2007 will be a year of his career people will remember. With two EPs slated for release late this year, and a long awaited mixtape said to be nearing completion, it doesn't look like ever stopped cooking up new batches of material. he squeezes through a smirk. finally start talking again, folks." (Mixtape) (EP) (EP)(LP)
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Battles/Disses
Charts
Peak #646
Peak in subgenre #23
Author
the MIME
Rights
2007
Uploaded
December 23, 2007
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.2 MB • 128 kbps • 2:23
Lyrics
[ intro ] - 8 I'ma see C like a Mexican agreeing when they question him on COPS, not knowing why they're arresting him. I'm not a novice, sir. I can see C, like an oceanographer just lemme grab these binoculars. and I'ma see C, like a dirtbike. You're an herb Wright. Only rap checks you got was your first Nikes. so when I see C, like cubic centimeters, you'll see I been a leader at sending heaters through stereo centered speakers. [ verse ] - 24 You wonder what the white cat could know about a hood thing. My whip took a shit, but my Atari has the wood grain. Any city, state or county that you could claim that has a bit of swag is mad you stepping on their good name. Your girl gives me good brain. Bopping the dick slow, dick hole tickles her tonsils while she licks slow, telling me let the kids go. Explicit info. But I thought you'd like a clue of what you're in for, chick is a nympho. Now we're past the basic insults, I can spit dope. Try to ignore that faggoty face stuck on that thick throat. Have you scrambling quicker than Sic goes to fix flows after Stryk posts when I'm this close to pistols. Call me a cracker; I'll live up to the name and punch your bitch mouth up to your brain. Fuck the tough talk. I aint even brush the dust off, yet. Hey C. Wrighter - you aint fuck off, yet? I don't trust him, so I watch him when this faggot pass, 'cuz he means it literally when he says he'll smack my ass. But I'd stick him so hard his jaw would look like cracking glass. 1/10 of the skill this bastard has used to smash his raps. You're a tardy tard. Mentally, you last to class. Will Lowd beat me? Should've known, and never had to ask. Sic Phuq will add the math. +2 and passing gas. Bout to shit on Meks again, like Immigration's actions have. Dude, you bugging if you thinking you'll move or budge him. Must be high C, and that explains your fruity punches. When voters look at you they see the brackets as a bad experience, and its not something that they wanna put you through. 'Cuz you're a token fag. Drinking out the condom, only way that you unload the mag. I'll revoke your poser pass. So now, you'll notice that, Wrighter isn't throwing jabs. No, in fact it, like a kick in the balls, he holds the bag. Versing this guy spitting, he only talks greasy conversing of fried chicken. A personalized victim whos hurting and lies twitching with nurses, who's eyes witness me smirking and slide in to disperse him with sly quickness.
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