i aint happy dis but o wel...

Homicide is a singular death-my rhymes are like a lyrical mass slaughter,
Aint likin ya weak punches-and ya rhymes have less flava then water//
Someone must spiked all ya punches-coz they got a wack taste,
My lyrics smash you-like cannabis wit crack laced//
All I need is a hammer-and ill break this doll made a chyna, leave her mind bruised-and my spunk stains all over her vagina//
I used to be impressed by ya, so I decided to test ya,
R you a muscular woman too-coz ya named after a female wrestler//
I be makin mass paper-while you just be making dimes,
Print this off n put in ya mouth- now u can chew it up and spit good rhymes//
You can try spittin my words but it’d coz ya lungs to rupture,
Ya punches don’t even bruise me- but mine destoy ya bones structure//
Chyna you way 500 lbs-I suggest ya visit a gym,
Ya still way 400lbs- even after I ripped ya limb from limb//
After ya trip to England- you had a 100 pounds less,
Coz ya spent it all on cakes-evidence is the icing stains on ya dress//
I love ya fat booty so lift up ya skirt, I guarantee this shits gonna hurt,
“wont ya look at my face” yeh but only when I squirt-“will you call me?” fuk no bitch its time to get merked//
I aint sexist-but all bitches r good at spittin is cum,
After you suck me-and I leave my love juice across ya tongue//
Ive seen better shit on toilet paper after I wiped my ass, you just another victim whos felt the wrath of killah kass//
Play with ya pussy then make ya lik my fingers, hold it there so the smell lingers-sorry bitch but go back to ya pop charts and RnB singers//