There's a fine line between hot shit, and pure shitty spittin/
but it takes a 'fine mind' and ten lines, to prove da second in what he'd written/
where do you find time to craft shitty lines, btween driding and gettin beaten/
my words vital like air, don't ignore just hear as I invade yo ears you concede defeat and listen/
Sittin down, metallica sound in yo ears spurtin lyrics eaten and flow unsteady/
could wack both your lines and you over da head but yo lines got 'wacked' already/
were you sober when you wrote this SHIT, or did u hit up E and quite heady/
I shake my dreads to remove images, yo lines frightening like Freddy/
yo metaphors are'nt bright or tight just 'murky' and with that your punk ass still can murk me//
leh me move on to a opponent who's entertaining or worthy, punk you lost this contest...don't even get a jersey//

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