[T-West picks up the mic]

U a sphere, not ruggid, too soft, death at ur brink,
Didn’t u ever think…Only gurls should rock “pink”.
Dats y u guh sink, too round and weak 2 rock edges,
Crew wit pink jackets labelled “wannabe executives”
so ya’ll legends, u are truly “the dimensions of ill”,
Cuz while ya spit, rest of RB pukin over window sills.
Like a hospital bill, I give ya the chills and the worries,
Ya trippin more than teens on maury…testing paternity,
Like that spicy curry, I give ya tears, so now me u fear,
Im in high gear, fukkin faggot, latest person I sheared…
Lyin face first, kissin my rear, Fuk how the records appear…
ya’ll kno im dribblin, tossin, n dunkin wit dis sphere.

[T-West drops the mic and walks away]