key style...

dispose dis ignorant MC, postin text while sayin he rips the mic //
ya mind is all ice, wetness of mah flows all rip ya psyche //
shit homes, i tip-toe to ya like Busta Rhymes and make ya flip-modes //
shit, you only come hard and long, when you're de-feeted with unclipped-toes //
slash up ya internal organs, made ya insufficient body bleed-from-ruptures //
my arena is unknown, like the Coliseum Of Rome, your bars are a beaten structure //
ya simplicity staggers me, your played-out lies might as wel say that KKK Cops are fair //
radio play? you'll neva get it, cuz like suicide bombers on jets, you should be off-the-air //
shattered cerebral of ya brain, you call yourself glass, so u should clear your mind //
cuz ya minds obviously distorted, you left milk out on the ground, no wonder u have cheesy lines //
shove ya fag dickrydin self up ya crews ass, u simply a buttfucka //
you're gonna get blown anyway, you didnt even have to battle emceenutsucka //

you're a failed attempt at netceein, you're 1-0, only in golf, that score would be impressive //
deprived of all social mentality, hit this wack nikka straight at his essence //
this cat aint got any direct punches, his verse would be betta in the writtens section //
then maybe you can stay up on the threads, instead of shrinkin like Bill Clinton's erection //
this cat's want me to spit unlimited bars, my shit is so far //
ahead of his played-out rhymes, that he can finally say i'm rippin a star //
you have not a single punch in any of your battles //
your a baby's toy nikka, you constantly get shaken and get rattled //
u think typin a bunch of bars will make ya arms-strong //
but you're like the quitter in the Tour De France, you dont-get-far-along...

UPPIN FA VOTES