Indie Meets Mainstream Cypher

[Big K.R.I.T.:]

M.I crooked slay that, been killin' beats since adapt

Yeah me and rhymes go way back, way back

Time machine flow when I was swangin' and ridin'

If you ain't reppin' for your people then you're shuckin' and jivin'

Tap dancin' and slidin' to beat that you can't comprehend

How dare you speak on where I'm from if you ain't never been

Fried Kool-Aid who made, never ate that in fact

Grandma was chefin' for real, made meals off love and scraps

Thank God for my country folk and family

Instead of a metaphor I'd rather take it by James Anderson

Damaging how they televised Basketball Wives and not tornadoes in the South and how we lost lives

Still rebuildin', pray for the children that have no hero

Only the villains that tell them get money

Sleep when you die I find it funny

Because when you rest in peace don't mean fast asleep in slumber

Thank God and stay humble

[Tech N9ne:]

Real rock rap and not to Xerox, weird not

Enough to make you fear a lot from here, watch

I ran scrimmage and I fought to the damn finish

And I popped eyes open without eating me canned spinach

My fans in it constantly tellin' me I can win it

If I stand grimace damagin' man every damn minute

I blend then expands quick it scrams wicked rhyme

Grand spittage, H.A.M. with it, fam dig it's N9ne

Chea - hard to see me like the background

Your rap styles comin' softer than a cat's meow

Red laces, big-booted like I'm Iraq bound

That frown will get you ate by my cannibal from Sac Town

Triple axe pal, pat down, gat down, bat down, blackout

With a fat smile I might react foul, so don't make this cat growl

I caught everybody when I spazzed wow, who do I catch now

[Machine Gun Kelly:]

Cleveland what up

Yeah, Kells, uh Cobain's back

I Smell Like Teen Spirit man, Cobain's back

I got these teens screamin' like Cobain's back

You try me and I'll make you a legend like Cobain's strap - blaat

They say I'm wastin' my time where the watch at how he got that

They say it wasn't my time where the watch at, now watch that

Speed of my syllables rhymes, better clock that

Stop that, Bad Boy gave me the contract and I dot that

Now who the heck is this, with his pants red as 666

All up in your girlfriend's TwitPics

That Eastside boy up out the 216

That's makin' these other rappers get Melo like the Knicks, eh

Get you spitters huck to finished, and when ya'll win the game and the cypher was a scrimmage

So everybody gossipin' tell a friend that I'm pitchin'

How this white boy just bodied Black Entertainment Television, lace up

[Kendrick Lamar:]

Pushin' a hoopty bumpin' the Fugees

My life is a scary movie, your life is a male groupie

Kendrick Lamar broke the handle with 22 Uzi's

Stuffed it in my mouth and cack, cack, cack killed the rappers that knew me

Compton's most wanted I live my life in a dungeon

Came out of a dragon I can probably touch the sun with

My bare hands, what are your plans to win a Grammy, sweet taste of victory like Oprah's punany

Don't judge me that's just some irony, trust me I like to laugh and get lucky

My sense of humor is rumored to be a Gemini's company come with me

In the planet rock and I plan to rock in a plantation chasin' many legends that made it

Face it you will never be Pac-10 even when the planet stop

I'm 2012 on a 12-inch, aimin' straight at your pelvis

Elvis would come back as a black if you was hot

You're just a mascot on a Kim Kardashian ass-shot

[B.O.B:]

Full-blooded pedigree, prize fighter special breed

My flow, they say it got special needs

I'm talking Ritalin, maybe even Adderall

Four bars from me would probably kill your whole catalog

Sixteen would make Deborah Lee cut the channel off

Thirty-two would make Paul Bunyan take the flannel off

Sixty-four would make your mama want sixty more

I eat haters, check the crumbs on my kitchen floor

They say my music's pop, I call it buyin' cribs for my mama shakin' hands with Obama

And if you don't believe me go online and check the pic

And if you check my flip cam you'll see your sister in a flick

I'm perfect from the field it's like I can't miss

I'm on a rant like Durant no pick no assist

Ya'll trippin' on TIP, get off my man neck

I'm just saying Martha Stewart left prison in a jet