I control this battle, this bitch is mine, like this was 1932,
I'll murder you so fast, you'll be dead, but still be vertical,
Dropping bombs on this faggot worse than fucking "Jihad, Jihad"
Capeesh, drink your 'Capri Sun' then try a punch, more like 'kicking his Fila's',
This 'ghost re-claims' his place, wasting his time more than Tom Clancy's fiancee,
Rearrange this peon's ions, nothing he can say is funny, 'like jokes about Autopsy',
While you hard like WonderBread, I got 10 personalities asking why you mad at us,
I'll disect your verse, leave you all mixed up, like a fucking platypus,
'Air-lock' this battle, like I 'dis-gusted' you, Leave you up in two pieces,
Now you a John Doe, crucified, and your only luck is through Jesus.

Damn writers-block
Read the verse, there shouldn't be any filler.

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I rhyme better than who rhymes better than you