Here's a battle rap I wrote with the concept that I'm satan and we're battling for a golden mic (a la devil went down to georgia).
I wake n bake MC's like you for breakfast
Comin in real cool, then cryin at the exit
crackin under pressure, like an egg split
doubtin yourself? I think your head's split
Shit I'm on that next shit, collectin souls
heaven too cold, I'm hot - that shit got old
I got bank rolled, then cast my own mold
that's why my throne gold, that's why the heat scolds
Cats meetin me greetin, like I'm a nice guy
like I'll take em out to dinner but I TAKE EM OUT - they die
take 'em Outback for a steak - inbetween they eyes
it'll all be over soon, ain't no reason to cry
Mayn its that season, for some reason, cats trippin
Puttin up their souls on the oft-chance that I'm slippin
they get the pubic treatment soon as I start clippin
fillin up cups with blood then I start sippin
I stay on the heartless tip - might rip out ya flesh
Turn you to a toilet - take a shit on ya chest
wrap you in a dress and pimp you, to invest
cause I got bills to pay, n I heard you're the best
Pistol whip yo ass wearin a bullet proof vest
just to match the irony of you thinkin you're the best
smoke your butt like broke addicts do to cigarettes
Just stole your soul, now you're emptier than your threats