Gluckman v. Berry

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What's up Berry? Your rhymin is lame
I've cleared off your desk where I'm fuckin your game
Been gettin' called out from my Village Ma Crew
To show you your place - let you taste my tofu

Thought I could resist, but Chang's twist of fisting
Made me want to stick my fist in your ergonomic vibrating mousepad thing
And shine your full-spectrum light on my balls
Cause your post-its got nothin on my corkboard walls

You still wanna talk about desk accessories
Your gadgets are lifeless. Your rhymes the disease
Wireless Keyboard? Graphite pencil caddy?
How about seamonkeys. Ecosphere's the mac daddy

Ladies in my office go weak in the knees
gettin off on some coral, four shrimp and fake trees
Big Ben, Sarah Silverfish, two I can't tell apart
Gets em down on the ground to suck on my heart

Tell the Cellular Crew that the time has come
Your stylus is weak and your peripherals dumb
You'll be served from the American menu next time
Eat that EZB, your name is my rhyme

The number of my rhymes is huge and complex
Not imaginary, like you and sex
Just try to count them, you'll overflow
I'll keep the mic, you've plateaued

I'm TI-92 to your 83
I flow straight up, you can't derive me
What's my value? Error: Undefined
What just happened? you've been out-rhymed.

Increase your contrast, you'll need an adapter
Your screen's gone black, cuz' I'm the real rapper
Like Drug Wars, your rhymes, gray-scale
Chase me Ishmael, yeah I'm the White Whale.

Like Sea Monkeys, my rhymes got I.P. (See, e.g., U.S. Patent 3,673,986)
Dime-a-dozen, you're a novelty.
Traitor to your Crew, they'll call you Joe (Trader Joe's. Get it?)
You're manischewitz and I'm bordeaux

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