here's mine....

i'm the kind of guy you don't mess wit//
i'll turn this mic into a weapon,
and have it eatin' whatever brains you got left like breakfast//
don't believe me then check this//
yeah, i stumble on stage like i'm reckless,
but i still got the skills to turn you into wreckage//
ill rip you into a beverage//
just check my records//
in the end i'll have your head hangin' from my necklace//
what's my message?
thinkin' you can take me; i'll smoke you like a Nes Quik//
you and all your lez friends//
the shit that you rap, what kind of shit was that?
a whip-whippity snap,
a rippity-rip, rip, smack...slap the bitch for bein' fat//