It's like i'm a son of a God and you're a son of a "Bitch"/
I've read yo rhymes, you're like drymouth pot heads....
you really have nothin ta spit/.......
comin wit hits, my punches, lyrically bustin ya lips/
choppin you up in ta bits, hit you hard, like tumbling bricks/
why don't you just admit it man, you like my style/
but I'll knock out your teeth if you try and bite my style/
You switched your name coz your last record was whack/
and you want me to go first so you can feed of my back/....
you try to see saw attack?, well lets spit flame/
metaphorically, i'll melt your face at a quick pace/
treating you with disdain, u couldn't be sharp if u was a switch blade/
I'll be in papers, name in the souce, bet you'll see me later/
but You couldn't even sell a CD if it came with a damn CD player/

peace.......