For underground metaphors. You can scrape an inch below the turf, for what it's worth. My style's been developed in the core of the Earth. The exhale's volcanic, the inhale is seismic. So brothers just panic when the Live one arrives with. The natural ability to run through your crew. From 2-1-4 to 2-1-3 to 2-1-2. In other words, from Dallas, to L.A., to the place where J stay. Everyday is mayday. So you can talk your shit on how you're wettin' MC's. With mad blood stains but I'll bet you can't stand the rain. I look upon your brain with disdain. Go back and reflect on my endeavors black I can't complain. It's like a raw deal, consistant with the way I make you feel. The ends stay revealed while the means I conceal. And those who try to steal get decapitated. You wanna snatch my H2O-type flow, but it evaporated. I displays my credentials over instrumentals. And my potential, increases at a rate that's exponential. It's detrimental questionin' my thesis. The penetration's exact, like amniocentesis. I rip your rhyme to pieces after drainin' out your fluid. My vocab is fluent, yours is evident of being truant. I know you wanna make moves but son you best to take a second look. Before my knight takes your rook

Cause everybody's rapping, and only few can flow. So why the hell they trying to deal with Live I don't know. I handle true MC's on their block or at their show. So if you got some bullshit, please keep it on the low.

Cause yo, I got the hair-splittin', self-written unbitten style. That leaves the competition running scared and shaking in their pants. You best to set it off cause black it ain't no second chance. Once I'm open, all you doing is hoping that the Live one. Will put the mic down, but son don't try to snatch it after. The laughter won't cease from the comparison, how dare you son. Step around the booth when I'm on. The microphone magician says poof, you're gone with the wind. There's no trace of your friends cause you don't know where the, Beginning ends or where the end begins. But you see that's the difference, you get sold, I get paid. Black I told you, get paid. If you're broke I'll have to rain on your parade. You belong in special ed if you think you got it made. J-Live with the mic is like the chef with the blade. Cause suckers get sliced and sauteed. Yeah, you thought your joint was fly but the flight was delayed.

Cause yo, I take the grey matter of pretenders. Through my mental blender, and then return to sender. My pen don't pretend to offend. I intend to render MC's, hanging loose like a fender bender. I recommend regardless of your gender. That you strike fucking with J-Live from your agenda. And remember that whoever lends a helping hand to defend ya. Will get burned to a cinder. As I end the, reign of wack MC's with their suicidal tendencies Rendering me sick, with the thoughts of killing enemies. But then I return to reality. Metaphorically murdering MC's when they battle me. You can't rattle me. I'm not your average snake slithering through the grass. I surpass the serpent as I head to class. You consider me crass as I wax that ass; style's no joke. But you best belive I gets the last laugh.

Quote by J-Live from Braggin' Writes on the album The Early Works of J-Live