Ayo I’m sick of dealing with you rhyme sluts//
I could set you on fire, you wouldn’t drop hot cuts//
You couldn’t even scrape the surface, `cause you might just be a paper champ//
You probably knockin’ dudes’ boots, giving face to the camp//
I’ll take you out of commission, place your thoughts in remission//
Destroy your pointless wishing, cause you mental division//
Un-sharpening gay blades, and lacing them with incisions//
Show me you’re a true champ, prove to me you’re competition//
Give me 16 lines, to let me know you deserve//
The honor of someone saying you’re a champion of words//
`Cause I haven’t seen it yet, from what I’ve noticed, you’re trash//
So breathe easy, before I jam a pen and pad up your azz/
If your keys had syphilis, you couldn’t type an ill line//
I guess me against you, is like Em against Ginuwine//
Run all over you, like I’m dirt and you’re turpentine//
Like a gauge is in your ear, see the way I blow your mind//