7th Inning Stretch E

Dot got it dot com. Damn it. Seventh inning stretch. It's the Closers. Word up. Double, Double Tracks on the beat. Word up. Red Eye. S Dub. Yeah. Yeah. Uh. Don't start to bust nuns if you can't Handle the bust back. Me to you is like a crown to a Dunce cap. Before you spit, should've checked the One stat. I'm undefeated when it come to the Punch rap. Fucking with me, you shouldn't have done That. A hole in your throat is where they'll Find your tongue at. I'm bad news for all attempting a comeback. Smoked so many MCs, no wonder why my lungs Black. This young cat make a hit with a One-track. Nothing's out of my power, crucify you With thumbtacks. Fuck that, attention where the Drugs at. I bomb like B-52s, but this ain't The Love Shack. I'm higher than cirrus clouds off A dub sack. Piss on your Grammy award, Shit on your dumb plaque. Quit your thug act or I'ma push your mug Back. Tire the four horses and tell you to Run that. Me and Red run laps around you Dumb cats. Your foundation ain't strong, your whole Building collapse. The realest revealing a fact is Bringing the feeling back. Predator felling over your melon like duffel bags. You dudes ain't MCs, you taking up space. I'm not a punchline rapper, but I'll punch you In the face. Make you taste blood for disrespecting The order. I hustle hard like a Mexican climbing Gates at the border. You, I'm a neat freak. I like my freaks lined up like my sneaks. Fuck with hiking boots on and bust on they Twin peaks. Sheesh, our body beats to peace. Make the violence increase. You gon' spit out teeth. You wanted this shit, Now you knee-deep in it, breathe in it. Closers coming through, could give a fuck if you Believe in us. Yo, accordingly, we bring it to All MCs. Call the orderlies, these niggas falling Like autumn leaves. I spit a tight rap, Precise what you write wack. So like Joe Jack, you cats never get your Mic back. Swipe that, you snitch thugging. The fifth's busting-Bang. For talking to the cops like McLovin. I sex dimes, but the streets love us. That's why I only mess with chicks from King Magazine covers. This punchline the greatest, One of the hood's favorite. Hard raps, I write my rhymes on cement pavement. This joint here is for your entertainment. Hip-hop's my first love, to this beat I'm engaged With. Save it, your career cease once the rhyme Stops. Your permanent home will be a pine box. Off the top, I kill the competition. Who's up next to jump on this mic and Start spitting? These niggas is all right. Watch you before nights. I play the field like Ozzie Smith but wore Whites. Paul Molitor, the way bars I ball tight. Swing so I can get you hit for a Small price. Success, money, fame with a lot of Women. I pitch heat like Nolan Ryan, Roger Clemens. Mariano Rivera terror, I got a vision. Coach told me to throw A fastball, but I ain't listen. Picture this, it's the bottom of the ninth inning. Two outs, bases loaded, and they might win it. I threw a screwball, a curve, two strikes. I threw a knuckleball. Wow, what a nice ending. Another W for Standout and the Closers. Explosions, ex-hoes in exposure. Excellent, we be X'ing out the competition. Ex-convicts from nonsense to consistent. Eating expensive foods you will never taste. Forever great, I'm hot as hell, but heaven's a Better place. Through the flames and the ashes, Passionate in flashes. Mastered in the fashion that's patterned to all Clashes. Build smashes and still matter. I'm hazardous to teens who want it now and Say, "Fuck it," in the latter. It's all scattered in the brain, shatter any lame. Chatter is impressive, aggressive to make change. Pound for pound, go for beats, home-schooled elite. Sound bombing for homage and hot when it release. Written specialists, gold medalists and journalists. Concerned listeners find the voice infectious. Y'all niggas in denial, we in the winning foul. Spitting traditional 2010, new edition now. On arrival, heat served across the plate. Known Closers and the outcome, stealing home base. Never basic, I'm known to lay shit and lay It perfect. Merking it purposely in my placement. Nine-toe tag, I'm bag 'em up in plastic. Every verse acid, all I spit is classics. Larger than life, yeah, tall man, Jurassic. Live the good life, the hood life, I'm past It. But I still will pull out the plastic. Jump in the whip, pop the clutch and mash It. Cops on my ass, then fuck it, I crash it. Hit the stash spot, grab the Weapon and dash it. Friendly game of baseball, Watch how we lace y'all. Victory is sweet, loving how it taste, Y'all. Game over, we on to the next. This one for respect, next one for the check. Yeah, take me out to the ball game, The brawl game. Far as I'm concerned, y'all niggas Is all lame. To bullshitter bullshitter, You get hit with a bullwhip. I'm a bully with the semi and the full Clip. The bullpen is empty when I'm pitching. The kitchen is full 'cause you bitching. The Gordon Ramsay MC, I'm a true chef. And I can't hear what you saying 'cause I Been deaf. My twin TECs, identical MACs, They look alike. And Swiss cheese the thing you Gon' be looking like. I start hooking right, then I start jabbing left. If my gun jamming, it worse 'cause you'll get Stabbed to death. In other words, I murder with A microphone. Just because you on third base don't Mean you'll make it home. And I'ma make it known we are the Closers, And we shoot at rappers if they posers. Standout, FuckThat, Punchline and Red Eye. The Sensei, S Dub and Big Nine. Phantasm, nigga, we fantastic. Bottom of the ninth, for y'all it's looking drastic. Yeah, the Closers. Double Tracks. You know what it is.