Monday Massacres: Music Massacres

This beef-ridden stuff is brought to you by butcher Nas, a.k.a beefmaster.

I, Nas, I support beef. Jay-Z and I, we have never made out. Never. We diss each other till the fat lady sings. Or his hot lady for that matter. I was born and raised in niggerdom and there, we diss. We ride(sic) and get blown.(even more sic). Check out what ma nigga gotta say. Pice.

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With all the pretenders around, it is next to impossible to stick in this here rap game. Yes, even when you have a janitor turned MC throwing jabs at your rap style. A guy from the street spit some stuff about me here. Trying to diss me. Over-reaching his limit. Stretching his imagination. Hurting all his brain cells. Interrupting the steamy make-out session his brain cells were involved in.

Hold up, lemme put this brew down….there.

Yes, hurting his brain cells by stepping up to the Numero Uno. I had since taken time off from rap-beating him, coz this has been a one-way ass-whooping for a while. I felt that if I kept up, my actions would have far-reaching effects on his mental state. Weak as his orgy-loving brain cells are right now, more rap-beating woulda turned them into whores, selling themselves to anything on fours. The guy from the street somehow always gathered his tattered shit up after a whopping and threw some more weak crap my way. Chiquitta, pass me that hood, I feel like giving this crowd some action…

Chiquitta: But Papi, we hadn’t gotten round to round six yet…

Hard-core nigger rapper with street cred worth two movies: No worries, this rap beating’ll only be a minute…

Chiquitta: Papi, me twin Niquitta say she want to come to you too…

Aforementioned nigger: Did she make an appointment? She’ll have to book you know…let me hit the stage first.

(bright lights..blazed crowd, high on illegal leaves and legal fermented fruits…bigass stage, speakers high up to heaven)

(Fixticks, world-renown DJ in the mix…drops heavy dance hall beat, works the crowd, sets them up for an assault of awesomeness)

Creepy streetguy,

Why do bees sting people even when they know they are gonna die,

Your 15 seconds of fame are here,

MTV doing a show on dim-wits, they should be there,

15 seconds, 14 seconds,

Longer than you last and you can’t do seconds,

Puberty hit you hard, poor goner,

It left you with a permanent boner,

I know I know I should have more empathy,

For you for you some sympathy,

Life as you, really stressing,

Ima send you your anti-depressants,

Don’t take them all in one go,

They’ll only make bald you even balder for sho,

When you wake up in that pool of used rubbers,

No one was in that room, just you, that porn and your blubber,

When your brain cells are done making-out maybe you’ll come to my show,

No, I’m not talking fast, you just listen slow…