This kid needs to stop playing himself, bitch u aint Ruthless/
You’ve experienced so many de-feets your walking around shoeless/
The only time you could come with hard lines is spittin behind prison bars/
Arrested for being a cross-dresser behind that screen dressed in a leotard/
I’m free of scars, what makes you think you will make a difference/
Working at UPS looking for some brown, but u need to work on your deliverance/
Your flow is more uncoordinated then a family of in-bred clones/
Your at home prancing around with Shakira in ya headphones/
Bitch, my lyrics slaughter your little wood and leave a splinter-in-ya-neck/
You the only one who knows you rap so you only battle on the internet/
Shit you oughta be my floor vent the way you just spittin hot air/
U so homosex I could have you hogtied buttnaked and u probably wouldn’t care/

After this battle my sig will read: UnEmceeAble Holding The Welter Weight Belt/
Winner by Knock Out, Ruthless’s cards never were shown because they never were dealt/
I’m walking over Ruthless so easily they calling me the Tread-Man/
I leave him with the Funk Doc so bloddy they start calling HIM Redman/

This verse blows hard, but whatever, I got mad writers block for like the last three days. G’ Luck Ruthless