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I take it back maybe yo should write longer flow
I could post a better spit out the left sida my nose |
yall think you can rap, but all you really talkin is crap
yo rappin aint got game, it puts yo mamma to a shame |
monosyllabic thug with no real vocab//
i put you on a slab go back to lyrical rehab |
you know why i picked for this battle right? Cuz i know ur going down like Jenna Jameson on her wedding night//
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the realitys glaring and pure/ my rhymes make you look foolish, like i was spittin a caricature
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Like McDonalds my rhymes are tasy
Whats that shit on your hand.ewww its pasty |
you always runnin ya mouth,talkin bout guns,only nine you got is money, a five an four ones
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your flow dumb, like yo girl tounge, mistakin my rifle for my gun
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all this talk about guns but you aint even seen one//
my rhymes weigh a ton yours is "featherweight" son |
yo rhymes way a ton so dat makes you sluggish/you keep bumpin yo gums and i'll shatter ya teeth and turn em ta rubbish
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like i was a beavers dam ill redirect your flow/
fuck your ho and cause your creep to slow/ |
i bend strokes to tha tempo, u missin tha snare,
rhythm impaired, i knocked but ya skill wasnt there... |
closest u b to an MC is at McDonalds
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they must of dismissed tha evidence, however prevalent,
tha fact, that u an ass crack have met an became friends... |
My spits like a cobra one quess whos God, I'll tell ya not jahova
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