4 Broz By Broz Pt. II

by 4 Broz By Broz

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released September 29, 2013

4 Broz By Broz




4 Broz By Broz Columbus, Ohio

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Track Name: 4BBBz Back Again
4 Broz by Broz, back again
Chase Boys - J. Rage-a - let the party begin

[Tater Chips]

The Tater is back with a salty surprise
Strap on your goggles and protect your eyes
From my lyrical explosion, you'll get the notion
That your honey got preggers from the Tater Potion
In perpetual motion, gold records each week
The only gold that you got is from the plaque on your teeth
Bitch, feel the heat, Oatmeal dropping the beats
Got that funky fresh flow from Worthington Street
I got style - so crank up the dial
Let me spit in your club - service with a smile
I'm the rhythm crocodile and I'm worth your while
If you don't think I'm sexy then you're in denial
So watch your mouth, and lower your tone
I'll make your ma cum through the telephone
Are you alone? It's my brother and me
Let me put you on hold for Da Reel MC

[Da Reel MC]

You it's MC and I'm back again
You know the broz gave me another track again
I grabbed a pad and a pen and got back at it to win
The best rhymes of all time will have you clapping my friend
2Pac, Biggie Smalls, J, Nas and Mase
Two, three, four, five, six one is Matt Chase
Girl, look at your face, turn around, skip the record
Shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
Shake that ass, like Michael J. Fox
In a school bus on a bumpy road filled with rocks
My hip hop like a clock, cause I tick til I tock
When it comes to rhyme, they call me Mr. Spock
Because I'm the final frontier of your rapping career
I make you wine with a sign that says the end is near
I write quicker with liquor but I write slicker with beer
I just spit out a hit and make the money appear
My ryhmes are hot, I get paid a lot
I stack more paper than Michael Scott
I even got more Dundies than Michael got
Like I done these bitches, then I forgot
I got a .45 in the truck of my car
I had 45 shots last night at the bar
I know 45 songs on electric guitar
I killed 45 men, only got one scar
There was only one man that I couldn't kill
Jesus H.Q. Christ, tell them how you feel

[J. Rage-a]

The Journalist eternal, hailing from CLE
Coming back out of your speakers, listen progeny
Gotten stronger, gotten faster in my rhymes and my flow
I'm solid like the steel setting up in the mold
Hip hop sabbatical, radical - I know it
Y'all don't care, cause you love the way I flow it
My rhymes win awards from coast to coast
All the ladies love me, I don't mean to boast
But it's easy to see how I earned all this fame
My hypnotic delivery is the best in this game
Oatmeal's beats are sicker than your friend
Who drank a bottle of Bombay, brought his night to an end
Da Reel MC, what else can I say?
His rhymes so provocative they might turn me gay
And Tater's delivery is all but discreet
Who could forget when when he rapped about his meat?
4 Broz are back and we ain't taking shit
If you don't like that, suck our motherfucking dicks!
Track Name: Eleven 55
[Saruman of May Kronics]
Strolling down the street, listening to ELO
Sippin' on apple juice, laid back; like a polyhedron I'm solid
I'm a gas, my funds are liquid
I've got a 1+ armor save
And impeccable Horadric knowledge
When I search Google I'm always feeling lucky
Is 4 Broz hep? Does Ernie have a rubber ducky?
We're rolling out ahead like a trundle bed
Running once again like Eugene V. Debs
OMG we're celebs!
We draw crowds with centripetal force
It's a tide that won't ebb
The Menace cleans up your act like a dental hygienist
Gets all the girls dancing like Elaine Benes
Hip Hop Renaissance man, you'd think I hailed from Venice
Anyone for tennis?
I use the commutative property
But I can't commute your sentence

[Mr. Natural]
The Natural's been diagnosing all you clowns on the circuit
Your scene's a weeping dick hubris
And your beats be stank like some scene deep shit
Yea, I see you, smug-mugging, auto-tuned and washed in synthesizer
I hate your fucking ass like a Zimmerman sympathizer
I'd love to stick around and rack my dome for who it is your trifling mouth bit
But I'm too busy rendering your girls vocabulary, oh shit!
I'm a curved cock cuddle monster, keeping it dank and subliminal
Been wandering these 50 states with the old dirty dog as my spirit animal
We smoked the leaves of the bodhi tree, now we're walking the earth
Singing the praises of them women with that bob crumb girth
We bounce from Chi-town to Seattle, we lead a Cali on a whim
I bummed a cigarette off of my mom, now I'm Virginia Slim
So get behind the mule, child, and plow with me, yungin'
The future's looking a little flacid so we best inject that shit with something, STAT

[J. Rage-a]
A journalist by night, you all know this
But most of my days I fly the tundish
A steel bathtub, say what you will
It's hot and dirty and it pays the bills
This job is metal, no pun intended
Cast it high strength so you can bend it
I've blown a load at the BOF
Ladies have claimed my touch is deft
My argon panels are full of gas
Inhale too much, you'll be on your ass
My soft start will get your motor turning
For my dick you ladies be yearning
If molten metal makes you sweat
The steam chamber will get you wet
4 Broz By Broz brings the thrills
But Uncle Lakshmi still pays my bills

[Stephen Genes]
Call me the shit - I'm floating
My flow is owning -the rhyme is cold
Your style's awful - I'm in a waffle cone
You must be pissed I kissed your momma - she gave me calzones
I declined, you see, I'm on a diet of microphones

[Lil 2k10]
4broz is back, yeah we got the whole crew
A new record from the broz has been long overdue
Giving the human race our lyrical wisdom
Spraying in your ears our pent up rap jizz cum
I want to have some words with the non-believers
Tell the haters where we at the last couple of years
When we were busy being awesome you were sucking the most
When we won the trophy you were burning the toast
You got a weak whip we roll a super bee
Right now your girl is begging Sucka Slim for the D
Shout out to Oatmeal making fools like us sound tight
I could fart into the mic and he'll mix it up alright
I'm sick of all the fools out there who think they can rap
Just because you can rhyme the word rap with crap slap
Want a review that compares your lines to mine?
My rhymes: sublime, your rhymes: a crime... JAIL TIME!

I keep my dick in a plastic bag so I can pee where ever I want
All the kids getting sick off the heroin that I sold and they bought
I do and sell and harvest drugs, I spend all my time at the clubs
Where all the public rub-a-dubs ride up on my cock
And I need extra big condoms, but like powdered wigs, I don't wear them
And my balls are like two beautiful cherubs
Hold up a constricting boa that cums like Krakatoa
Anyways, I have more cars than anyone else
I have more guns than anyone else
I have more kids than anyone else, and I don't give a damn about them
But I guess that just says something about my personality
Track Name: Sissy Walk
[MC Half Mast]
I’m rappin, I’m rappin’, someone please hand me a napkin
I like to wipe my fingers after every time I’m snackin'
Sucka Slim back on the mic so let us get a crackin’
A crackin on some Kraken, the Cruzan or even Captain
Working on this case like my name was Bert Macklin.
So now let me see who the culprit could be
Pound a few drinks, and now I gotta pee
Could someone clarify “What the heck was in that whiskey”
Dr. Brule, Dr. Brule diagnose my flow
Is it ill, in need of pills, will it stop the show?
I don’t really care cause I’m a doctor too
Just sawr a dang stranger and that stranger was you!
Haven’t been to Dave & Busters, cool your thrusters
If you ask, then Haph Mast will smack all you Mother fuckers
Swimming in the glass lined tanks of old Latrobe
Get out, dry off, throw on my robe
It’s when I take it off bitches flock me in droves
They love my verse cause I don’t care for prose
With my man Tater Chips, his salty smells hit my nose
He’s locking up the track in case you didn’t know
Back from the dead 2k10 has arose
Or it seems as he gleams from his head to his toes
Laying down this track for the mutha lovin’ bros
All the lumber was bought from a place called Lowe’s
We got a chorus on this one, and here’s how it goes

Illness in our spit - We got a sick flow
Just like a bakery - We make a lotta dough
Our beds are ten feet high - We never lie low
You keep on coming back- So here’s a little mo’

[Lil 2k10]
Word on the street is people got to know
Why I go by 2k10 YO that was three years ago, bro
Long story but if you're gonna bitch like krang
I can rang the dang thang for the gang if you hang, mang
This tale I will tell in a free flow niche
To which I got to switch when I get that itch, bitch
Rolling - twelve patrolling - 4 broz BLAOW 'OH SHIT' and then
I glocked a way out - that's why they call me 2k10
So if you want to roll with me I only got one rule
Got to roll with all the broz and pay for the fuel, fool
You got to get us pabst and you got to pay the bill
And buy all the meat I'll throw it on the grill
If the pigs come down on us you'll be taking the heat
You're a lucky bastard, this deal can't be beat
But if you give us shit our good will goes down the drain
End up in Rage-a's backyard six feet under next to Wayne

[Tater Chips]
It's the snack food Jesus coming down from the sky
Elected President of Hip-Hop High
Two fucking times and I'm drinking wine
Hand me the mic, it's my time to shine
I cast a lyrical spell on your Supreme Clientele
Like American Idol, I'm hung quite well
So let's go Pop Pop, and I won't stop stop
If you dip into my wallet, you're gonna get shot
I don't like Kid Rock or the Boston Red Sox
Let me lift up my fingers and leave you in shock
As I rock every block from Belize to Bombay
Putting cream in your grits - Parlez-vous français?
Don't fucking play or you'll wind up dead
"Uhh, Jimmy can't go to school, there's a hole in his head"
Force fed the best rap group of all time
They use my rhymes as proof of intelligent design
Let me redefine your definition of truth:
I saw Sasquatch, I don't need any proof
Me and Sas smoking grass up in Arkansas
With the Yeti Girls - yes, it was a blast
Sucka Slim, 2k10 - tight like Frog and Toad
My words flow, so start stopping your boots
Tater Chips coming home with all your looooooot!
Track Name: Gotta Groove
[DJ Oatmeal]
La-Z-Boy back and enjoy yourself
Cause just like soy, Oatmeal's good for your health
Says your physician, 4 Broz 2nd edition on a mission
4th floor office door sign says we're out fishin'
And I spread it on thick, like grandmas canned jam
I'm back in the saddle like the Son of Sam
I am an appliance designed to drop science
My bill paying skills is what keeps me financed
Bringing tracks back to life like Solomon Grundy
And I cut up a rug like it's a dame and I'm Bundy
This groove's got the back that makes you shake your tush
Fat Bass line's thicker than George W's Bush
Ladies on the dance floor: we know you wanted more
We're back on the wax- and it's time settle the score
Our funk's a work of art -and it's hanging in The Louvre
When the patrons walk past it - you know they bust a move

Cause I gotta, gotta gotta, gotta groove right now!

[H nasty Bamboo Shoots a.k.a. Tangerines]
I'm farting out rhymes all over your face
I'm the Rapping Detective, and I'm wrapping up this case
If you lost your daugher, I can help you find her
Phantom Menace puts the case files in a 3-ring binder
There's no need to call an ambulance
You're not covered in ants, there's no hot soup in your pants
I'm just slamming these rhymes down hard Like Larry Nance
When I get up on stage, you're going to stand up and dance

[Tangerines and DJ Oatmeal]
We rhyme with speed - nah, we don't fatigue
Members of the Poetic Justice League
Tangerines and Oatmeal got nothing left to prove
We're a great a breakfast combo for those who got to groove


Wine and condoms - all you need at a picnic
Let me flick you a quick tip - you can't handle this dick, kid
You're flaccid - I cum miracles on ice like Lake Placid
Shoot it in your eyues - it blinds like battery acid
Oh? I got you pregnant? Well, isn't that tragic?
Take my advice and go get an abortion
And don't you dare ask me to pay my portion
'Caue I can't, cause I won't
Cause 4 Broz is back at the club
Making all the girls moist and all the guys get chubs
Doing hip hop dances like Coach Z and Bubs
Now stop bothering me about child support!


[DJ Oatmeal]
Screams peel for Oatmeal and they always be pesterin'
Pull a Charleston Heston, fire my Smith and Wesson
And I got a round left for a lucky-feeling punk
Shatter you like glass on a O'Neil dunk
3 sheets to the wind, half mast already gone
His partial got court martialed, twas illegal public schlong
Saruman ain't on the chronic, he's hooked on phonics
He got a B+ in pleasure from The the School of Hedonics
Now it's me and Tangerines and we're on the scene and
Gotta Move to this groove like you were bustin' a Keaton
The Times headline's got the full details:
"Oatmeal fucked up the track like a penny on the rails"
Track Name: Potbellies
[Saruman of many Kronics]
We don't have potbellies - but we're fat
We don't have sonar - but we know where it's at
We're not radioactive - but we'll melt your face
Saruman - Steve Genes
We rest our case

Phantom Menace striking back lyrics rushing like Zerg
Did I break your concentration? I hope it was insured
If you're having rhyme trouble, I feel bad for you son
I've got 99 problems but a bridge ain't one
If I had my druthers, I'd pen another with precision
Don't have Shinigami eyes but I'm a man with vision
Step off fool; I serve only Ner'zul
Call me Silmarillionaire, I ride dirty like the Nazgul
I'm neutral good with maxed lyrical dexterity
You hosers suck more than gravitational singularities
Are you asking for a challenge? or have I misunderstood?
You're out of your element; doubleplusungood!
I stole fizzy lifting drinks; I'm 1337
You're still fumbling through basic grammar lessons
Are you thick as a brick? are you out of your gourd?
Steve Genes is here to teach you the fear of the Lord

[Stephen Genes]
Girl, your butt is like a crayon
So cray, 64 shades
Draw all day, sharpen on the back
Keep the tips tight, talking bout the big box,
Girl, that ass is like a crayon
So cray, 64 shades
Draw all day, sharpen on the back
Keep the tips tight, open up a big box
Doodle all night

The beat- it's a steamer like Cleveland
Believe what you read when it's written in my semen
Bitch please, You know my skeet is mac and cheese and you're a vegan,
So only artificial creamin', only california dreamin'
Like Benson, I'm Breezin'
Breathin' rhymes instead of air, I'm the best there, I'm first chair
Plus I got chest hair, big testes - yes a blessed pair
Thanks Engine make you blank stare

[Saruman and Stephen Genes]
Tater's rhymes are Windows 8, yours are MSDos
Reel MC's lines will strike you down like in Paradise Lost
Oatmeal is lumpy, he's the Scrumbletown prince
Half Mast is a blast in the ass from the past
2k10 knows when, what year is it again?
Rage-a's the spell-caster, like Macaulay the Pagemaster
Tangerines rips out your spleen, makes you live in a latrine
4 Broz shows bust more guts than KISS
If you're gonna spew, spew into this
Track Name: Farm Animals
[DJ Oatmeal]
Pay attention - class is now in session
There's a test at the end so take notes of this lesson
Today's Lecturer - Professor Oatmeal talking shit
You'd win award of the year for being a twit
I pop you like a zit - deflate your self esteem
Burst your bubble, hopes crumble to rubble, you awaken from your dreams
Cause it seems you never seen rhymes like these
I'll take you out like the trash or phone order Chinese
If I was a guitar solo, I'd be played by Brian May
If I was grain alcohol, I'd be Sapphire Bombay
Sans the juice, I cut loose, next to me you're a deuce
In the crapper, dead last rapper, bringing up the caboose
Cause I ran train on this verse, sent it home in a hearse
If you bet on me to win, you going home with the purse
Cursed to be worse than me, you ain't got the credentials
To be bona-fide, qualified so put down all your pencils
This Hip hop test is over, and I passed it like I thundered
Past a semi in the left lane by going over hundred
Now get outta here"CLASS DISMISSED" you all got schooled
And I "tore the school down" and I peed in your pool!

[Da Reel MC]
One bitch, two bitch, red bitch, blue bitch
If it smells a little fishy, it's time to get a new bitch
Hey, where the hell am I at?
I woke up drunk in the trunk of an old Pontiac
They put a mic in my grill and said preach some truth
But first I need resuscitation, mouth to Vermouth
I got buckets, like Uncle Drew
I'll make you faint in the paint when I'm coming through
I drive this rap attack with a black Cadillac
I drop a load in the road like Jack Kerouac
And I got more ladies than Wilt the Stilt
They call The Pimping Hall of Fame the House that Chase Built
Had five pregnancy scares in the last two years
I'm sitting on different bitches like it's musical chairs
Get me a beer!

[Saruman of Many Kronics]

Here's a gift that'll make you think, it's an early Rosh Hashanah
No it's a not a new greatest hits volume from Nirvana
It's the second installment of Saruman's chronicle
My lines are so fine, to read them you'll need a monocle
The secret word is "4 Broz"; keep an ear to the ground
When someone says the secret word; scream real loud
But you'll be cheering anyway, when we bust out a chorus
'bout Aperture Labs or Ashenvale Forest
This disk is no flop; read the rave reviews:
The greatest sophomore effort since Monster Blood II
They're at the top of their game, at risk of sounding overzealous
They've got hooks that'd make Dr. Hutchison jealous
"Mr. Phantom Menace, how do you do it?"
I learned everything I know from Mr. Bean and Pappy Drewit
Phasers Mr. Chekov; warp 10 Mr. Sulu
Frakkin' with me is like frakkin' with Cthulu
That's all I've got; time I went the way of Vader
See you in the funny papers; smell you later!
Track Name: Watusi Dance
[Stephen Genes the Magnanimous]
Well fed, we got 'zza - far our like Sun Ra
Undead like Mumm-Ra - I flow cold like tundra
I got flatulence abound, yes I'm tooting out the good sounds
Praise for my timbre resounds, call me the gaseous eraser of frowns
Waft the bouquet of wordplay, Or should I say "sniff my farts"
Well bless your heart! I'm blissfully pissing on your pop tarts
And now I'll skeet on your shredded wheat - part of a complete meal
Treat you to my veal - You know I mean my wiener
I'm a winner at the dinner table
Legendary like a fable - able to rock the joint
Call me The Finger cause I'm always on point

[MC Half Mast]

Hopped up into Target, man, looking for a deal
Silverware - $5 - That's what I call a stainless steel
Met a lady in line, told her I always keep it real
She was dressed so fine and wore some nice high heels
We got to the talking, one thing led to another
And the next thing I knew, I was doinking someones mother
By the time we were done, I had discovered
That her husband came home, and I shouted "Oh, brother!"
This actually never happened, though I dreamt it one time
How I wish it were real and not just in my mind
Such a deal on knives and forks, would I ever even find?
On the off chance I did, I would rob the Target blind
I don't give a shit, here is Mr. Dr. DJ Oatmeal

[DJ Oatmeal]
Exceptional? Please - you're average, in the middle
I'm a nine on the Richter and you barely make a squiggle
My rhymes, refined sugar sticky sweet, get stuck in the beat
On continuous repeat, cause these broz are neat
And flock in feather, together on my cue
Kitchen cooking, a bitching sort of witches brew
Each MC a piece in a stew of a saga
Ali Baba, open sesame, and the words flow like lava
And burn the ears of my peers in the sphere of my influence
My style - worthwhile, finessed and nuanced
With a pleasing aesthetic, and my flow - copacetic
I rhyme the whole dictionary, do it alphabetic
The evidence - empirical, my lyrical dictation
Ranks me top three in the R and B nation
Don't change the station, cause your patience just paid off
Carry the 'x' and divide, enlightenment equation solved