Your-o* so gay that I have to pound* you worse than the government defending the English-currency/
You dig-this-currently cos my lyrics are like spades the way they make graves from with-in-hurriedly/
You winning-puzzles-me because it’s a game of chance to see whether you have the luck to land-a-hook/
It’s like fishing cos you’re the bait amongst sand-and-wood, getting caught up in traps leaving you bland-and-shook/
And then plastered-to-books as my superior-intellect leave you delirious-with-respect/
For yourself, but that’s like inferiors-given-head, you can blow me by leaving C4 in my walls but the interiors-I-detect/
I’ll hit you with the daily-cycle-of-life, slice your lips and leave you almost dead so your barely-able-to-lie/
You’re fairly-stable-I-decide cos I nailed your feet-to-the-ground, I punch you in the ear so you know how the beat-would-sound/

*your-o=euro pound=£