Slicin up Master Cards is the only way yu Cut MC’s...
ya rhymes throw the end of the alphabet at RB they way we all catch Z's...
Yo I Disperse-herses, plague you with the worst-curses...
You got limp'-verses like imitating Fred Durst on-purpose...
Im lyrically Start-Jumping with mics strapped tight to my head to keep my Rhymes-Pumping...
Your ill..syke, ya aint Tight your so shyt dawg even your lines-are-dumping...
Cuz just like faulty carpenters, his skills don’t measure up...
Like a prostitute with no eyes, he's blind at the fact he sucks...
His bloods gushin, claimin to be hard and now he got a ripped stomach...
Since the only Piece he ever held...was a 9 of 'McNuggets'...