23 Styles of Rapping

by None Like Joshua

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released June 12, 2015

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None Like Joshua Winston Salem, North Carolina

Overlord of Future Rap. Livin life in Story Mode.

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Track Name: 23 Styles of Rapping (Clean)
Why am I yellin at this volume?
Like I’m telling it off a bad script in a small room? – Society’s Problem
Do you know why? Do you know why?
I’ll tell you why – I don’t know. Too Deep

I’m better than you
I’m sweatier than you
I’m hotter than you
I’m smarter than you
I fart more than you do
I’m more racist than you
more homophobic than you

Even though I sound like Dr. Seuss
I’m the best rapper rockin a tracksuit
I will call you out if your rhymes are wack

White people were like, “hey yo let me try that!”
I grew up in suburbia, no I won’t murder ya
but I will challenge you to a game of tennis!
And let you win

From New York to Cali
To the bloods and crips
Man fuck all the pigs
selling drugs with clips

I’m violent
Terrifying places I reside in
in these times the gangstas just lying
Saw their face on Scared Straight and crying.
Then they tattooed the tears

Pump in the gym
Get on the dance floor
Break it down break it down on the dance floor
Shake your booty on the dance floor
Unless you’re in aerobics class

Yeah I smoke with your mother
Like we’re brothers in a commune
Don’t say bad things, unless you got a problem
With my hair or with my smell…

I never popped my cherry before I got married
Please stop, I’m wary if your Potter is Harry
Marriage is defined between a straight man and a woman cause
If it’s legalized, I’d hold hands with the groomsman
Baptized in a lake that’s holier than yours, duh
Satanists and pagans pray for rain in California

Yeah I’m so fuckin angry
that I want to kill myself
I fuckin hate my parents and I hate my school
even though they want to help me
get a job

My dead family thinks that I’m a joke
so I cut off their limbs, and slit all their throats
I’m just kidding, they’re living
I rap about my dreams and hopes

Internally rhymin every line that I’ve ever written
Always violently describing all the times I’m with women
The only 90’s white rapper never been inside a prison
Back then, I used to make fun of the pop stars and celebrity children

All you got to do is yell
OKAY
this is what they listen to in jail
Say what?!
Do this dance yo
It’s only gonna last a month
Cause this song needs more autotune

Girl, I’m a sang to you.
You ain’t got to worry about a thang my boo.
I got all this money from my bar mitzvah.
Oh yeah, and from Degrassi too

Oil companies
Tax the rich
Defense contractors
Tax the rich
Corporations
Tax the rich
Government
Wait, don’t tax me bitch

There’s a toaster on the goose
while I’m stroking on the fruits
Poking holes in the roots
of the helicopter sinking
your velociraptor’s drinking
marmalade with the crunchy tails
If you don’t understand, then you’re not smart

Got the girls ridin in the back of the tractor
Just as misogynistic as the other rappers
But the audience is happier I’m not blacker
Don’t call me cracker, you racist asshole

Rap about a VG, anime, no CDs or MP3s, I’m down with that
.OGG lossless when I record in my PC
Master race.

We drinkin brewskies with the bros
I’m a pro with the beer pong getting the tail
Smokin on a cig, no inhale
freshman girls start showin their vage
Then we’re goin to bang
And it better be consensual!

Yo I’m from West London
Soundin like Pygmalion with a crumpet
I don’t think you understand me
I’m the Prime Minister of the drum n bass beat
I’m a gangsta where guns are banned
If you a wanka, I’ll hit you with a pan

Seriously, we will beat the bloody shit out of you if you talk bollocks about our soccer team

Why – am I – rappin – like I – couldn’t – even – breathe?
All I rap about is pussy – money – weed
Rappin in triplets, I’m rappin in triplets

I don’t need a man, but I’ll make a love song
Money in the bank, fake butt in a thong
- fuck skinny bitches, I eat em for breakfast
then he does the dishes
no I don’t do dishes
just rhymed the same word: repetition

It’s a Flo Rida, Pitbull song
That a ghost writer wrote cause this shit’s so dumb
Yeah we gonna get drunk in the club
On the bub, let me rub on your butt
With the nub in my pants

22 spit it
in front of you, different
a minute beginning
in chronological order
but did I miss it?
I’m kidding
Where you can comment it below, the Like: you hit it
you can always share the video subscribe to me if you didn’t -
Rappin about everything that you would listen to when you’re chillin
So I’m NLJ, and now I’m finished
Track Name: 23 Styles of Rapping (Explicit)
Why am I yellin at this volume?
Like I’m telling it off a bad script in a small room? – Society’s Problem
Do you know why? Do you know why?
I’ll tell you why – I don’t know. Too Deep

I’m better than you
I’m sweatier than you
I’m hotter than you
I’m smarter than you
I fart more than you do
I’m more racist than you
more homophobic than you

Even though I sound like Dr. Seuss
I’m the best rapper rockin a tracksuit
I will call you out if your rhymes are wack

White people were like, “hey yo let me try that!”
I grew up in suburbia, no I won’t murder ya
but I will challenge you to a game of tennis!
And let you win

From New York to Cali
To the bloods and crips
Man fuck all the pigs
selling drugs with clips

I’m violent
Terrifying places I reside in
in these times the gangstas just lying
Saw their face on Scared Straight and crying.
Then they tattooed the tears

Pump in the gym
Get on the dance floor
Break it down break it down on the dance floor
Shake your booty on the dance floor
Unless you’re in aerobics class

Yeah I smoke with your mother
Like we’re brothers in a commune
Don’t say bad things, unless you got a problem
With my hair or with my smell…

I never popped my cherry before I got married
Please stop, I’m wary if your Potter is Harry
Marriage is defined between a straight man and a woman cause
If it’s legalized, I’d hold hands with the groomsman
Baptized in a lake that’s holier than yours, duh
Satanists and pagans pray for rain in California

Yeah I’m so fuckin angry
that I want to kill myself
I fuckin hate my parents and I hate my school
even though they want to help me
get a job

My dead family thinks that I’m a joke
so I cut off their limbs, and slit all their throats
I’m just kidding, they’re living
I rap about my dreams and hopes

Internally rhymin every line that I’ve ever written
Always violently describing all the times I’m with women
The only 90’s white rapper never been inside a prison
Back then, I used to make fun of the pop stars and celebrity children

All you got to do is yell
OKAY
this is what they listen to in jail
Say what?!
Do this dance yo
It’s only gonna last a month
Cause this song needs more autotune

Girl, I’m a sang to you.
You ain’t got to worry about a thang my boo.
I got all this money from my bar mitzvah.
Oh yeah, and from Degrassi too

Oil companies
Tax the rich
Defense contractors
Tax the rich
Corporations
Tax the rich
Government
Wait, don’t tax me bitch

There’s a toaster on the goose
while I’m stroking on the fruits
Poking holes in the roots
of the helicopter sinking
your velociraptor’s drinking
marmalade with the crunchy tails
If you don’t understand, then you’re not smart

Got the girls ridin in the back of the tractor
Just as misogynistic as the other rappers
But the audience is happier I’m not blacker
Don’t call me cracker, you racist asshole

Rap about a VG, anime, no CDs or MP3s, I’m down with that
.OGG lossless when I record in my PC
Master race.

We drinkin brewskies with the bros
I’m a pro with the beer pong getting the tail
Smokin on a cig, no inhale
freshman girls start showin their vage
Then we’re goin to bang
And it better be consensual!

Yo I’m from West London
Soundin like Pygmalion with a crumpet
I don’t think you understand me
I’m the Prime Minister of the drum n bass beat
I’m a gangsta where guns are banned
If you a wanka, I’ll hit you with a pan

Seriously, we will beat the bloody shit out of you if you talk bollocks about our soccer team

Why – am I – rappin – like I – couldn’t – even – breathe?
All I rap about is pussy – money – weed
Rappin in triplets, I’m rappin in triplets

I don’t need a man, but I’ll make a love song
Money in the bank, fake butt in a thong
- fuck skinny bitches, I eat em for breakfast
then he does the dishes
no I don’t do dishes
just rhymed the same word: repetition

It’s a Flo Rida, Pitbull song
That a ghost writer wrote cause this shit’s so dumb
Yeah we gonna get drunk in the club
On the bub, let me rub on your butt
With the nub in my pants

22 spit it
in front of you, different
a minute beginning
in chronological order
but did I miss it?
I’m kidding
Where you can comment it below, the Like: you hit it
you can always share the video subscribe to me if you didn’t -
Rappin about everything that you would listen to when you’re chillin
So I’m NLJ, and now I’m finished