I'm Sick, Son, i'll rip you wit Inscriptions/
you won't evolve no more when hit with Extinction/
i spit vicous scripts, make convicts look Nondescript/
Man, Forfit, cos you couldn't amount to "shit" in Manure-Pits/
your style is old n decrepid, and punchz stay unconnected/
you got no "lines"...but i'll leave creases in yer forehead/
so add talent to yer wishlist, or go find a rent-a-diss/
if Darwin met evolve, he'd of become a creationist/
i'm out Classin Assasin, i'll leave him with Cracked-Limbs/
so Pack-In with tha Rappin....cos you'll always Lack-Wins...

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Open Battles - none