you couldn't sweep this battle if u were a jonitor
go back to american idol cuz all you want is glamor
my spit is hardcore, it leaves bloody decores, and starts world wars
homies call u lucky dick cuz u always get ur hand
keep u trained like a dog working at my command
you say you rip people apart, well i'll disintagrate them into sand
like little jhon Q u'll have a change of hart, battleing me was not that smart
you say you shoot people? we'll i get pysical, i'll hang you on my church steple
I will do it on a sunday, the prist laughing at a crow all-you-can-eat-buffet
and like how richard simons feels the burn, ur moto all-day-beat-ur-meat
like a hore just slob on my nob
and if we have another in the next verse
i am gona do my job
and lay you in that hearse

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