a'ight...

I'm-a just say one thing before this rhyme get's underway.//
tRiLL, you're skill is only second rate.//
completely FAKE, seemly lame like a sick pet.//
to beat me you need to get someone else to write your shit.//
pre-written dribble commin' from this little witless...//
witness this massacre pickin' up tha flow like hitchhike passangers.//
switch style faster than a natural disaster.//
I.. Don't.. Need.. Hope..//
I just overload my circuits with a serving of percocet.//
then when I'm a nervous wreck I learn ta dis-respect anyone, even a vet.//
and this kid, he's even less than I am,//
so while I'm writing with my right I'm igniting a fire on the mic with my left.//
then throwin' it in tRiLL's lap to make those gay short short's into hot pants.// lol
stop that, you can't rap, just droppin' non-sense.//
honest you need to step off before you get to my levle.//
'cause If I ever see you close enough to strike,//
I'm-a lower myself to your levle and drop you back to old-heights.//

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