my fist erupt, lift and touch until you spittin guts/
I accepted your challenge and u getting beat like you missed the bus/
this Nugga's tough? ya style is proof that you a childish fluke/
sonned you and left you for dead, now im locked for child abuse/
i act in violence, duke its funny shit, that you need a gun in grip/
when all it takes is Gillette and a sneeze to leave a bloody kid/
my speech is awkward and rude, beat you till ta caucus is blue/
word play? theres fault in ya proof, i had headaches sharper than you/
sharpen my tool, leave you battered and shaved, wit ya matter dismayed/
you all jokes, and i'll crack-a-smile with a bat to ya face/
ya verse, half of its played, the other half just babble and shame/
as im bashin the lames, u seek the "butt" of the joke; to ask if its gay/
faggot, im raged, provoked to wrath, blood soaked cloak from ya open gash/
ya lifes like loathesome gas, you not pushin it much, but its prone to pass/
ya style invoked a laugh, a faint cheering as i remain tearing.../
...that verse "concieved" without "givin a fuck" like saint mary/
U dialed for war, but u’re still all flow with punches lackin’ power,
But the only flow that ever affects me…is lack of it…in traffic hours,
Closer:
Sayin’ u’ll crush me? its a feast of ego's but u the only one leaving hungry,
U love MTV plus Puffy, Real World & the rest of their fiction,
So then u should know God can only be touched by Jessica Simpson,
Nothing less then a victim, while u claim to be pimpin’ ur one liners,
& yes u meet new girls every day, only cuz u suffer from Alzheimer’s,
Hyper, cuz its football season, with ur eyes set on me in the worst way,
blue on 2, take a hike or simply audible out of ur word play