With no choices ya'll choose me da winner..like highschool prom elections...this bitches rhymes couldn't shoot for da stars witta sky high erection.../
steppin up to me..like a scale tellin ya rhymes overwieght none of em landed...chop off ya fingas hand ya the mic and beat ya "empty handed"..../
yo ass rhymin like prince-on-weed..hypaneted verses there...there-is-no-need...cuz ya multis dont exsist in dis ficticious-beat.../
dis faggot like shitty asian city's he does nothin but Bangkock..give so many handjobs dis whole website callin ya jon Handcock.../
my rhymes ingulf you then i break you in half just to "snap you out of it"...verses commin Te-Kill-Ya (tequila) so you joinen alchoholics anonoymous.../
kickenya in yo face wit my cleats cuz all you can do is "spit shine"...cuz you chew up yo old mother goose books and claim you spit rhymes.../
I'm "hot and ready' cuz like pizza places my rhymes leavin ya wit "little ceasures"...cuz i spit sin gotya cunvulsin like epileptic preachers.../

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