Horizon, eh...? You're title's apt cos you going down like the glum-evening-sun
And you're from Brixton UK as well? Fag's prolly just another bum-peeving scum
Before you even started I'm sick of ya tale, your rhymes are whimsical and stale
Tip the scale with your own entrails, mail 'em back in a bag when I gag ya pitiful wail
Tuck ya tale and run son, before ya chest come undone and spill ya guts for C's fun
None challenge Cerulean so fuck what you done or find yourself very close to Big Pun
One...Hate to do put the nail in your coffin but your lyrics were deemed to fail
They're simple and pale, derailed and shaky hidden behind the veil of a Cerulean gale
You got a flow more off track than a broken cross-fader, I'mma "snap" this "alligator"
Horizon's loss's waitor, win's later, couldn't "beat" shit if he was a "chronic" masturbator
Rhymes of gore that tore through many men pushed afore by my sleeping demon
You brought me close to punching you physically but your bowel's too full of semen
Yo I'll continue to push more flows through the doors of history's core and rap's lore
Started a war like it's a chore man, my lines are etched from pure arrogance and bore
While H went berzerk cos it hurts his head needing tripple effort to kick just one verse
I get immersed in free flows, so prepare for the worst dog and pack ya skirt and purse
BYE BYE!

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