You couldn't match my skills with sticks an flint as your rhapsody
Rap Bible states not to, but still you commit alphabetical blasphemy
An I seen your in the crew of seven shadows, the crew of seven ass holes
Against me you couldn't even grab the fuckin mic with seven lassos
You're a lightweight man, born in April one to the six
Couldn't build a decent rhyme with pockets of bricks
Im hotter than hells days, the ways im blazin the tracks
Your as cold as dead Eskimos, no way your meltin the wax (wax = a record)
You got deaf ears to the music, you have to now admit defeat
This guy could piss on Tyson, an still won't be feelin the beat