I'm wicked,I'll pull your plug on this site so you can return to bein brain dead/
Everyone thought ya return would be dope but as I predicited,its lame instead/
Quit messin around,speed ya shit up,my keys are quick to take you out/
You little pussy,my scriptures already did the dirty work,and the nasty kids ate you out/
I'm already hittin ya worse,why finish this verse,your script is based on a lame form/
It must be raining in my head,the way I brain storm/
The rhymes you design are indications that you love public humilliation/
You couldn't spit a good verse if it was full of positive statements/
I bet ya hate this,cause you're tasteless/
And it's obvious vaccant spaces adorn in your torn brain in numerous places/
When it comes to you rhymin,I'm an atheist,I'm faithless/
I plan on hurtin ya like white racist dentist full of hatetred do black patients/
In this test to see who's the best,I'm gonna ace it/
Battlin an amatuer ain't no challenge,you're just a failure,so face it/