no offense with the title, i was in that sort of mood when i got here
freestyle

poof, i'll rip out your spinal cord and stomp it/
just say i got on your nerves and back i dropped it/
go ahead, dig at the bottom of that barrel of rhymes, my verse will still top it/
you're now in with the dead numbers/
cuz i just finished counting, and you're 6 feet under/
only way you couldn't be a waste and wack, is if you were a diabetic plumber/
you couldn't defeat my lyrics if you scribbled it outta my dictionary/
you couldn't out man me in this battle, even if you suddenly grew a moustache and became hairy/
you're wack and on a roll, spare me no multies, you're flowless/
i got you in a choke hold, no wonder you can't throat this/
with or without a written syntax, you have no chance, you can't hack the fact i wrote this/
scribble scribble dribble ink, i melted your shoes, that means i defeated you and left you soul-less/
i'd knock you out in public if we were on the subject, whether or not if i'm voteless/
if we went deep, you couldn't flow what's in you, even if you slit both wrists//

kind of wack, i don't know how many bars

good luck


signed,
~madd