Over 16,537,738 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
His Dhalsim style is too weak, so thin it needs some meat, I bring beef like Zangief, to slam a creep down to the concrete, I take my Fight to the Streets, leap like Blanka the Beast, from the trees to the blacktop of the back alleys, me and my family, World Warriors, Styled soldiers, Guile, with a back fist that would fold ya, and we can get chinese, like Chung Li, Ha-Ha-Ha hold it in, Haudoken, I release my energy, My lungs look like Ken dressed in the an all black Gi fit, from puffin on the marijuana, fat spliffs like E-Honda thick, get me some yoga-flame in this bitch, fucking with me is dangerous, I bring you a fight, every night, like Balrog live on the Las Vegas strip, Round One Fight, react swift with a scissor kick, followed by a tomahawk chop, as I float across the top, double-sweep your legs to make you drop, wind up on the black-top, seeing stars, before I finish you off. uppercut to the jaw, slow motion falling into some exotic cars. The next level... I face-off with my counterpart.
The Shining™ - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
Round two... fight! Day or night, I'm ready to take you out, if you in my sight. You hear the jets on my stage when they take flight. The charge starts, and I already been holdin' my chi down for two seconds, like... SONIC BOOM!!! Gimme room, 'cause I don't sleep right. Supa' soulja', wit' a tattooed shoulda', and a sonic knife. I'm government project and I've already sacrificed my life. I love killin' more than I love my wife; it's the special ops watch, and I'm on suicite. I get paid to snipe, with a mohawk and a camel back full of malted right. Yeah, I'm not right, but this is my shyte. All I'm good at, is stickin' cats wit' the pike. I ride wit' savv dykes and heavy artillery cats, who'll spit a thousand rounds at your mic. If I catch you at close range, I blast you wit' the light. The shock-wave is heavy. I'll kick you so hard, it feels like you got wit' a semi. I'm grimy, but so savvy against the enemy. A thousand assassins is like ten o' me. I'm all death's head, 'cause no one in my vicinity is friendly. I was made for this like Rambo, except he was make-believe. My wife has ten purple hearts that commend me. I'll swing my fists and sever your face, so deadly. I take lives to earn my bread, G. Every ten generation has ten o' me; I'm so unique that no one knows I even breathe. If WWIII's the only option, then they send me. Upon my arrival, I shed my parachute and there's nothing to contend. This your end... you and all ten thousand of your men. I harness my chi and then I bend, soundwaves in circular formation and turn military into pretend... situation solved, Guile's here and the threat has been resolved. I light my cigar and contemplate if humanity will ever evolve...
ANT ᵀᴴᴱ ЯANT - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
I enter the cage to roaring applause, I stand, take a deep breath and I pause, as a masked man, armed with tiger claws, the guitar strings sing to me, and for my cause, in the background of this restaurant, I wear a porcelain mask, to protect my face against any mishap, my aim, to stay a handsome lad, I can live forever as long as my beauty lasts, life is lavish, and I love to laugh, I stand on center stage, silhouetted by flamenco dancers, as I unmask, to recite my nightly stanza in Spanish...
"El matador combatidor-cantante, cante en el base, con cuidado mi amor, por que este señor viene con candor, el super suave escritor, mi vida es todo un esplendor, por ejemplo entre mis frases, dibujo un estilo de lujo, y lucho por mi, y a mi mismo, es un medio entre mis sueños y mi vida exterior, pase lo que pase, hace lo que haces, este tipo esta en frente al ataque, y grito en ingles, "Vega is the best!" y no me chilles, porque y asi, es... la cosa que no conoces es la cosa que te pone bien, en el suelo donde los peros se pisen"
As I finish, I end with a grin, red roses, on the floor at my feet, as the crowd waits for me to speak again, but I hold my words, raise my fists, upwards towards the ceilin', my blades extrude as they call for their next victim, my blade hasn't yet eaten, so come get some. I dawn the tattoo of a dragon, wrapped around the torso, and chest, of a fearless competitor / bull-fighter / master of ninjitsu...
My gift to you, a swift demise, for I despise you, there is not enough fight inside of you, I stand as a man, tried and true, blonde hair, with eyes blue, a Castillian prince, pridefull, a vision beside you, waiting for the call to battle- We fight, Round Two... backflip behind you, and slide kick you, roll forward, and slice you, climb the height, of the fence, and swan dive at you, there's no defense you can do, leap off once again, and drop you, to the platform, it's over already, I start laughin at you, defeated in shame, and I turn my back on you, I bring more game than fuckin Capcom do... keep my mask on, I can't even look upon you. super slow-mo after my combo is through, the blood drips hit the floor, right before you do too.
The Shining™ - Brass Knuckle Poets Society said:
When shit's 'bout to hit the fan, I'm yoked up in fatigues with a camouflaged comb in my hand, tryna' make the mohawk do a hand-stand. I dropped ten grand, just for kicks, on the fact that I'mma crush ya' like tin can and Guile's gonna be that last man standin'. I got your life for ransom - I put that on my dog tags, and my wife-beater tan. I can't wait to grab you in mid-air, hit you with the body slam, and hear your skull thud when you land... watch you bounce like a rubber band... and hit you wit' the cannon-cannon-cannon... I'll throw you ova' my shoulder like a paper plane. I jump from hueys and apaches for damn-near minimum wage. I'm so cut up, it's insane. I get paid, to bring the lightning, thunder and the rain. You really think you can hang with me, Mayne? Nah - Soni'-Soni'-BOOM!!! I bring a tornado of pain, like a kinetic cannon-cannon-cannon... I'll blow you out the frame and I can swing 'em all day, the recon warrior way. I jab-jab-to-flash-kick, jab-jab-to-flash-kick, leave you wobblin' like a spastic. You dancin' to halo of song-birds is automatic. I'll hit you with an upper-cut tha's fuckin' fantastic... walk right up, intercept and slam you, like you plastic... leave you bruised and beat worse than a swastik. Boy, I got a gang o' tactics. I'll bash you like I threw brass knuckles at your face and told your mouth to catch it. I'll leave you limp, lispin' through some fat lips. I get paid to practice beatin' soldiers 'til it's two breaths from drastic, two jabs from a spinning back-fist. I'll smash your legs from long range and have you layin'on your back-quick... catch you on the attack and suplex that ass in slow motion, like it's magic. You don't get no salute - I pull the comb up out back pocket, spike the 'hawk and mad-dog you while layin' there tragic, wonderin' what-the-fuck happened, hopin' all you need's a little chap-stic, for that bruised ego, smashed lips and broken back, Trick...
