I'm the lord in all accord, you're just an upstart vassal
You're left humbled and crumbled as the king of a sand castle
Cokehead's sniffing my lines, and getting my hooks up his nose
I could inspire this illiterate idiot to write books on my flows
Your lines resemble crippled snails, so it's pretty fitting
That I leave slugs in your chest for slow-mo spitting
You're a free agent for a reason, just check the statistics
You couldn't even be the MVP of the Special Olympics
"Verbal is your savior, lord and master" just repeat the refrain
I should slit verbal in your wrists so you could say my name in vein

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