Proof 101 Songtext
von Qwel

Quel, Quel

Man you can hardly rip that rapper off my album
After how you ask around
You sound exactly like you found him, astounding

Patterned decisions after this mission
Shattering, have to listen
Rock habits like the Vatican practicing fact from fiction

Impact collisions, magnificent raps
Wisdom assassin hits passing battle kids
Not laughing with him, tattooing autographs
Too gassed to pass emissions

Bring your writtens and the kitchen sink, master lyricism
Here it is in battle and he′s
Confessing an ass-whooping fetish
Hell the best efforts flunk
Well punk and pessimist
The funk infested in a nutshell
But what sucks sells
So best luck with your rep son and best duck well


Spitting clocks on commissary while you itch in a cell
Cause you're iffy as hell, why they wish it was Quel

N-n-nah I think it′s kinda dope
The way you sorta st-st-stuttered
Smack with the low fat rappers spitting
I flip sore sports, the part of picture that's ripping
QWE buzzkill, limp to grin peeped your single seems the beats was ill
Die juggling syllables to see the beef gets grilled
The Q who E L when you speak of skill

Remember me? You were trembling on beat at DudesCave
But how'd I spit, you got out quick like bootlegs
My flow scheme′s the sole reason that this scene′s got clout
Throwing your jabs like wet drapes
You got his team knocked out

See your raps are lacking dude
You hear those boots and gun claps
Try to burn a track, take this tourniquet and struck match
Last time we battled, your crew got tattoos to repent
Yo but now you rock a fat ass Q with a dent
And matching bruise, dead when the rap was through
Try to laugh it off, biting style smiling through a half or two


Critics admit this shit is wicked without dumbing it down
Cause Quel slaughters cattle at battle so beef don't come around

Yo underground I peeped him, he was holding his tape
The cat must have been dope, blocked every blow with his face
Yo now he spits with a limp and kid is pissed he had to lose
Lost to God again and had to snag an autograph for proof
All MC′s recycling the same bad news
Left flag flew like Disciple Gang tattoos
Bad apple in a battle, paddling assholes for babbling
Not trading passion for cash in ass rapping
Back again, five deliveries catch bombs on 'em and one

So throw your hands up son, cause it′s nobody's anthem
But what′s in a name, Proof 101