Jane Doe - Jane Doe, Shadowman, and Kriminul Freestyle (The Time Has Come!) lyrics

[Intro: Jane Doe] Eddie Ill, D.L., Jane Doe. Uh [Verse 1: Jane Doe] Jane Doe street connection, hit mics without protection Run red lights at the busy intersections Sonic erections upon my rap completion Bang you in the head until your ears release secretions Present rhymes in the oral. You sing along Now it's plural from Queens, where it's rural Tap your spine like an epidural. Red eyes beaming Got the whole crowd screaming, transforming to a demon That appears inside your semen. No rhyme without the reason Follow, my intuition expensive like tuition You blind like [?] and, in addition, I move mountains While you steady wishing in a well for heaven While you living in H-E-double-11 I'm consecutive like seven-executive mentality Count grams like they calories—ain't no cap on my salary Me and my man nicknamed Mickey and Mallory In actuality, I put the real inside reality Jane Doe [Verse 2: Shadowman] Oh, my style is Disorderly when, actually, you wannabe reported me I'm flexing like a Mexican, but you running for the border, B My rhymes carry extended. Frankly, you falling short of the lines Switch time and mind, saying that lyrics ought to be Now thoughtfully, I'm k**ing the lyrics that you brought to me Get smoked like a Newport to me—any n***a who fought with me I'll caution thee: I'll dirty the clothes that you sporting, G Hurting you's a chore to me. Frankly, n***a, you're boring me Historically, Shadow be ripping this sh** up metaphorically These cats that bat, they know I'm fat, but out here, they ignoring me Every time I get back, they gon' be like, “Oh damn. Who the f** is he?” Shadowman Boogie, OWD [Interlude 1: Kriminul] OWD, Jigmastas. Uh. Check it out [Verse 3: Kriminul] Put it to paper, son. This sounds like a best-seller Seasoned veteran spit. You spun around like a propeller Give me a shot [?]. Account of my style is so sick I'm better, stronger, faster. Millions of dollars around six Surround-sound mix. None escape except for meaning And I don't care who see me. Old dog like [?] Better believe me when I tell you that I got dragon's breath In my speech ‘cause if I spit fire, ain't none of these f*ggots left We've been planning our steps, executing from blueprints Who one of the realest emcees out here? Give y'all a few hints I use ink like an a**ault weapon—hit you and you sink To the bottom of the totem pole. Then I lock and reload Fold you up like a fetus sitting on a [?] [?] she crossed behind—mall, white-trash trailer ho I blaze chrome with graphic content explicit for eardrums Foes? I fear none. Fake-a** n***as I stay clear from Plus, I bring the best out of a snare drum. I'm sick of snacking On just mere crumbs. Sex chicks with pierced tongues Nipple rings. Cripple things I find threatening Louder than Steve Rifkind. You find I'm deafening [Outro: Kriminul] Yo, J-I-Gs, Eddie Ill, D.L. #3. 2000