OK. Who Is The Best Lyricist On DV.Net? The Undisputed Champ? Post Your Nominee:

DV. Not quite a diety. But a goddess calls me daddy. A princess. An heiress. Look close you can see a little Isis. Stop hatin' Judas. My righteous is priceless. Between you and me, just between us, like Jesus. DV is a black genius. My blood Noblesse. Hegelian synthesis disguised as progress. My rhyme in one breath will make an atheist say God Bless.

So, let's keep this real simple.
DV kick ass like the Nazarene in the temple.
Watch me pump the shotty and put it to the temple of evil.
Watch me uncock the shotty to show what the power of love can do.
I'm like one of them books they left out the bible. 
The Book of Denmark Vesey should be gospel.
Skin the color of chocolate mixed with caramel.
This not the place to be if your ego is fragile.
This the place to be if your intellect is agile.
Understanding DV is gradual.
I look best in British cut flannel.
Aston Martins with mahogany panel.

Your Highness is mos def the finest lyricist to ever spit rhythmic via fiber optics. Count the times I've blown your mind, shined light on the divine got black men and women to combine and entwine to continue the blood line. You cats just rhyme. I realign paradigms. Ya'll cats is nice. Denmark Vesey is the headline.

Come test. Like litmus. My right left leave you toothless. Even my love is ruthless. 40 cal leave leave you roofless. Like a black Atlas DV bench press the world staight off the chest. I advise you to build a spiritual fortress and stop eating noxious substance that makes you nauseous and gives your lower extremities numbness. NWO using GMO to poison us.

My swag is epic. Your swag needs a Heimlich. My aura is thick. Your little aura is sick. Your persona needs a medic. Your game needs a psychic. Your spirit has an anxiety disorder and needs a Xanax. Birdeye you my little white side kick. Thordaddy you clever but robotic. CNu hilarious but forget about it. UB actually quite poetic. Big Man innocent. IllMath gotta give you credit. You kicked it. Big Wayne did his thing, you know he ripped it. Kon Womyn legit. Sister did her thing. She went for it. But when it comes to the title. You know I copped it. If it's a championship. DV got this.

DV, you're right. I am a robotic machine. Got nuckas in here sportin' Borat vageens. Two scoops of raisins, two hundred pounds of dopamine. These fools be runnin' like Harriet Tubman. They see me comin' from the future like Terminator, searchin' for resistance. Found a dude named DV Conner, he's part of my assistance. He introduces y'all to a lil' black supremacy. Adds tradition, swagger and a lot of personality. That's why he'll be useful to the system and singularities like me. Cuz that's the race that demands my vigorous pace. All the rest is just attempts to save face.

So thanks DV, for your black supremacy. Freez a cracka up to do his best you see. Layin' the groundwork, seperate the cream from the crap, no more excuse from all these blacks. Cuz if DV can do so much swaggerin', ain't no excuse for these other nuckas who be staggerin'. I'll be back. Just started floin'. Already amassed a collection we'll sell to a Cohen. Kick these nuckas off who be hoin' and thordaddy let you have the spotty back cuz I got to be going. Back to future that is....

KonWomyn said...
thordaddy, thordaddy, you tha kingdaddy, son;
a crown not a frown
is what i wear on my throne,
Ill you're the illest, slickest with the sweetness
'scuse me while i blush
at this lyrical crush,
now you treat ms lady
right n keep it tight
like romeo not homer-doh.
fist ta daddy dubya,
y'know i don't swear so i can't say yo' name ;)
keep battlin' bigman,
you say you tha deuce,
but let's see whose
really got tha juice.
so 'scuse me again,
while i flip the scrip'
n' bus' a sermon from hermon
to burn the pulpits
preachin' fictions,
drinkin' Jesus blood,
flooding they guts wit Jesus flesh
n' toastin' crucifixion
instead'o Resurrection,
so don't look for me in they pews
i'm suppin' ital with my jews
drummin' binghi beats so hard
i got beatniks
vibin' to Blackbeats,
n' ravers rippin'
'frobeats for breakbeats
bustin' wacky two-steps
pullin' screwface when i buss up the floor.
i mash up tha riddim,
put they beat in recession,
call a funeral procession.
dem got no chance with my chants
cuz i don't really do raps, but
wraps of kente
stitched in floetry
so beautiful, so bright
God's Sun is called Eve.