Mista, or Ms "Tate", im sorry 2 hate, but theres is no "fate", "almuate", ya dead "weight", get your head "straight" or end up in a "hursh"//1

Because my rhymes is like, a tampon used five days straight, ready to “burst”, to bring the “worst”, and leaving you haunting like day we battled, like I sent I “curse”//2

Skulls is “Crackin”, and watching a James Bond movie, is the close to get to “action”, and only time you dealing with 45’s, if the it looks like a “Fraction”//3

Working at McDonald’s, is the only outcome, of you having it you way, and putting them burgers is the only heat you Packin//4

Only way my face on a shirt, is if me and you BITCH, get on ~Air Brushed Togther~//5
Switch up my heats, while only thing you change, is your Jacket for the ~Weather~//6

And what me and you chick do, in my ROVA is our Business//7
Because im preaching like good news, and in your home more then Jehovah Witness//8

Now, you rhymes are Sloppy, now going another round, is a big RISK//9
And you can rember this battle, ill save it, and Mail, you the Floppy DISK//10