How u expect respect, all I do spit diss, go ahead check ya present, bitch it aint Christmas
Fuck, think to act polite, pussies lose a fight, lightin u up like Christmas lights
Unlike mine your rhymes aint no delight,
I’ll kill u worse than knife filled asses sittin on sata’s lap or Hiroshiman japs
Droppin bombs on this cat, cuz the best smack he talks aint in a battle but bitch smacked
vote like a fork in the road, his side left, best choose right.
This virus bout to go inside fuck wit his mind,
thinking me and this bitch co inside, eatin his punches alive,
scared goin up against a real man, call ‘em chirstapher reives cant even stand,
closest u come to me is wit a dark tan.
Dyings for a sweet sound my 6th win, happy to go down quicker than on some hot twins.
What u expect, your rhymes look like they from a recycling bin.
Your post battle ratio is ridiculous, he aint never been spittin shit,
Up in the hip-hop forum thinking he coo wit it.
Bout ta burst that bubble with disses, the hip-hop u.p.s. be deliverin it

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