The Ill Spoken, Johnny "Ghostwriter" Harris - Child's Play Freestyle lyrics

(As we keep it movin', we still in here)
Chyeah, GhostWriter, Ill Spoken
(Ill Spoken still in here) let’s go, man
Yeah, yeah, ayo, look (Can we get?)

Young scholar spittin' with
The reckless mouth
Spit it in the kitchen 'cause
A nigga dishin’ records out
Finger-lickin' messages, verbal kick back
So I'm pistol-whippin' pessimists (Uh, huh)
So get equipped with extra pins (Extra pins)
I keep writin' without gettin' up
To stretch my limbs (Stretch my limbs)
Olympic bars
Got 'em thinkin' I just left the gym
I just left the gym
(yeah) , realized how I spread my phlegm
Fam, I define no comparison
Wannabe tough guys, save me the embarrassment
Walk around, pistols on safety like Harrison


Rodney, two points, you walked in
Conversations that’s confirmation
Wine and dine, fine vagine
Shorty got to climbin’ high
(Uh, huh) , shit was kinda dry
Improvise, got inside her mind
(Haha, hey yo, look at this bitch)
Ha, sike, I don't wine and dine shit
Rhyme sick
Pull my dick out in front of a blind bitch
(Haha) you can’t match the slang, lame
Watch me max your pain
Ill Spoken, number one stock in the exchange
Speakin' for it'self is my
Independent spittin' style
Runaway lines, brutalize like a missin' child
(Okay) i take shots at you rappers
’cause your shit is foul (Shit is foul)
Killed the art
Now I'm headin' a vindictive crowd
Ya chick's friends with my dick
And it's her biggest pal
It's always there to comfort her
When she's feelin' down dash

Haha, ayo, Ghost
(Beedie) , let me get in this shit real quick
Yo, yo, yo (yeah)

You say you gettin' paid, boy
You livin' the dream but, you not livin' the
Life, you just wishin', it seems
You ain't gettin' rid of no weight
You get rid of your cream
Blowin' your whole re-up tryna
Sniffle with me
Y'all is fake, hustlin', strugglin'
Listen to me i spit twisted lines quick
(What?) , they'll whittle your team
Ain't no need for name-callin' 'cause
You know who is, ho
8 Mile, wow, probably listen to Sisqó (Haha)
You Walmart booster
Your shirts with the little Ecko
That shit has been played out, homie
You need to let go
Askin' me if the city gon' feel you, well
I don't think so
The only lines and numbers that
You runnin' is bingo
Oh, you got a couple fat hoes at your shows
(Woo) that ain't enough to make up for
Your wack flows and your clothes
The whole crowd wishin'
They could fast-forward, fa'sho
(Fa'sho)
They waitin' for The Ill Spoken when
We go and it blow
How High when I'm blowin' the O
I mean the OC, not a smoke ring
My head stash lookin' cozy
So take a picture, I don't even need to pose
(Click) yeah, these streets is so cold, man
They frozen (Ha, yeah, yeah)

Ya dig? And that's what it is, motherfuckers
(yeah, yeah) ayo, Easy Mac
Wrap it up on these motherfuckers
(What? What up?)

Listen, I got a dime of haze
I'm about to get high today (Chyeah)
It's just another damn case
Of some child's play (Haha)
If right, crack spit straight freestyle
Yay have you sittin' on
Your roof naked, yellin', "I am gay"
(Homo)
The nasty rapper, cat that'll smack ya pastor
From massive laughter
(What?) , standin' on the rope and ladders
Nothin' changed smoke weed with
An underdeveloped brain
I'm insane, a criminal before the first grade
Shed your bibs, spittin' mad crack to kids
Durin' naps
Fill another kid's mats with piss and laugh
(Ha) as a teacher, like a cat, would hiss
Slap the bitch, told her she was fat as shit
(Bitch) put a middle finger up
And left class to spit (Fuck y'all)
Decide no, like a asterisk (Haha)
Fuckers lookin' for this ass to kiss
The rap I kick, who bust open, crack ya lip
Fat-lipped, lookin' like you just
Packed a dick
I'ma run up in ya crib with a mask and wig
Fast and sprint, grab a big bag of shit
I'm immaculate as soon as this rap begins
Yeah, y'all know what the deal is, homie
The Ill Spoken, The Scholars, GhostWriter
East End Empire
We comin' up, homie, just get ready
Rated R, DJ Diggz, Big Will
Let's get it, man can't forget, I see you