Alright look,

I'm a lyrical pugalist, you need your eyelids slit// (1)
you got blood drippin' from open gashes, you're already losin', it's OBVIOUS// (2)
just like each one of your punchlines// ( long pause) (3)
I just called you out, so please just retreat from these front lines// (4)
my ryhmes are like punches, the lines you repeat back are like bitch slaps// (5)
If i had a gun in my hand, I would've just felt the kickback// (6)
so it would be wise for you to not even attempt to attack back// (7)
fuck it, go ahead, and recite the best lines in your scratch pad and still get laughed at// (8)
soon enough you'll be like "damn, son did made mills"//(9)
so while I'm here drop to your knees like a hooker wit' unpaid bills// (10)
you work at Subway so you'll never be in a luxury automobile// (11)
oh wait, excepy when you're in the trunk of my car// (12)
you couldn't get a decent rep if you were bench pressin' wit' no weight on the bar// (13)
if you have a dope thought it would be to your benefit to spit it this instant// (14)
cause I got a hold on you bitch which I refuse to relinquish// (15)

Spit it . . .