your punches are a swing and a miss so smell the ::asscence of air::
u can try 2 rap like emeniem grippen his nuts but u only ::caressen pubic hair::
leaven ya chances of victory descendin like :
lane crashes::
punches hittin ya head so hard you'll be slower then ::retarded molasses::
quick to murk ::kats::, leavin ya holy from ::spike bats::
ha called me out didnt ya no im the type to ::fight back::
your punches could be bricks and they still couldnt ::stop me::
a neculer missle aimed at my chest and my brain couldnt ::drop me::
you culd could come out in louisanna and it still wouldnt be :
urchased::
sumbmergen ya ships, and you still didnt scratch my ::surface::
you were maken it seem like i was runnin and you were ::chasen::
you like a kid lookin in the mirror wit amnesia ya forgot who your ::facen::