You aint even remotely hot like refrigerator doors/
Incinerate you more- then ciggarettes-when-Im-Bored//
Your Poor- I know You aint ill you just fakin-it/
Black Thief's Verses- it's only way he "takin-shit"//
And Your losin record is about to get broke even-worse/
You like a 4 year old throwin blows that dont-even-hurt//
I never stop eatin emcees my philosophy is why-stop/
ya rhymes is as worn out as my-pops- High-tops//
Lines Drop- On ya skull hard as bricks- from 11 floors-up/
Drinkin Henny and smokin blunts-the only way 7's-Tore-Up//
my-expectation in this battle is my time-gets-wasted//
by a wack emcee with no-flow- he just "rhyme-stipated"/
My rhymes-the-greatness- While you rarely got skeelz/
Just to prove he's fruity he came to me and got-peeled//
You lost this Battle- 7 Thirds can't be simplified/
Ya style is garbage- to the curb with ya crippled-rhymes//
Handicapped emcees can't touch this- ya flow need-crutches/
Cuz like the word Quiggybo Your punches Don't-Mean-Nothin/

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