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My Verses are like guns they blast-back , niggas clutchin-stomachs and bloody-Contacts/
they deliver head-aches, like the enemy-of-the-state , so advanced he couldn't even coordinate/
the spittin' time is due at eleven forty-Five/
this man's fruity, he's nicknamed Five-alive/
nigga wants to battle me, wats-da-cause?/
i'm like Santa-Clause, i came to deliva ya first loss/
the shit he delivers is probably already-writtin, Stop-spittin/
his shit is weak like a purring-baby-kitten/
i met dis chick last week her name was Bridgette/
she was-a-Midget, i saw dis man at a club askin for her-Digits/
my shit ignites like-Gasoline, spreading like wild-fires/
i'm chillin in da club sippin Thorisine, sorry kid they don't have rappers-for-hire/
son i rock everything-you-lack, timbs, monolos, even blue-khaks/
Dis man's black-and-sweaty, hanging over like my nut-sack/
ima be a rap star wit money drivin-Cadillacs, i'll see you at mcdonalds when i order my big mac/