I can smell your fear, and i know I got you sittin' on pins and needles,
We all know the only musicians to come out of England were the Beatles.
But you wanna pretend to be an M.C., and that's okay, you can try,
Your verses dig your own grave, like you get on here ready to die,
This is like a war of words, and one-sided, whateva you drop just bombs,
And I got madd shots aimed at your head, you must be the red-dot-com.
With a kidd who's lyrics are so laughable, People wonder why you never smile,
I know you picked up the drugs to numb the pain of bein' molested as a child.
You like a cartoon, you won't die, regardless of how bad you get beaten,
Remind me of the RoadRunner, you only cause you're scared of bein' eaten.

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