what this was was a free style,
into your cabinet it you might file,
to preserve for future battles,
the cream of crop for recycles,
dazed and confused asking who done that,
asking what you lack and why it is the shit I spat,
and the end I may give you a pat on the back,
or another piece of rock crack,
for the chance to tap your mommas back,
I got the skills to fills the shoes,
one by one battle whole crews after their bitches I screwed,
so get a clue and come in twos,
if you want I'll play make believe,
and pretend you didnt lose,
oh my GOD!
I cant stop!
so set up shop and smoke a whole weed crop,
anxiously you will wait for the date,
when my next rhyme it comes time to communicate,
at Hells gates with everybodys moms I mate,
the only man in a whole room of hips that gyrate.

Does that clarify things for you...dog?

One love right back at ya'!