You have a flop-fat dome and brains not at home to answer
The door, cancer galore in your rhymes like a sickle cell dancer
Rhymes don’t blend tight you invite scum to write some choppy
Verse you a sloppy burst of failure with paraphernalia drive jalopy
With flow dim, no rims and four flat tires, had enough of the bluff
Present a bold front, sprint as an ole punk with no speed you not tuff
YAYO your rhymes like play doe have no shape or size can’t make
A wise verse and lies worse than fairy tales, you Cindarella fake
This tender fella break rules like cops on busts, like Mandella I’m great
I’m strong like upright construction but you a corrupt sight for production
I rhyme sickness it a combine quickness of flight and brain suction
Scrap with all groups like a wall of troops but you a tall fruit loop
No flavor in your bowl