My raps are one of a kind, i slap the words out your mouth, so you become a rapping mime. Call me the sun, the way I spit flows that outshine, Throw your “watch” in the “garbage” to show you that you just a “waste of time”
My rhymes piss you off, like getting stood up for a date, im a lyrical rhyme pitcher and you got struck out, so get off the plate. You like to beat off with one hand at a time, so your right and left hand alternate, You told your mom that brick was dropping and album and she said “I cant wait”
You the girl in your relationship, I saw you in the street shaking your hip, you couldn’t spit tight if a vice girp was attached to your lip.
My rhymes must be heaven because they are way above, Your latest rhyme was “Yo yo, im a thug, I got shot im my knee caps by lil brick, but my wheel chair is rollin on dubs”
I beat you to ash, so there is nuttin left, I plug a “Bow Wow CD” in your “ear” and ask you if you “so so def”
My lyrics kill dudes like a Glock and Ak. I beat you all the way to 106th and park, so I can see Free and AJ.
I walk up to your girl, just to get her digits, if people where skillz I would spit Shaq’s and Yao Ming’s and you would be spittin midgets
I drop a verse and all I get is love, you spit remixes to 50 cent like “In da Gay Club”
Your rhymes must be “Out Of Order” cause your shit “aint working”, you type with one hand while your other hand is jerkin.
Im “calling you out”, except this isn’t “Bitch Slapped” Your spits stink so much, the lyrical doctor put you on prescription tic tacs.
I shake your flows up like the earth and flip your rhymes like pancakes, since you beat your meat, you wont get my hand shake.
It must be my birthday, cause this battle was a piece of cake, like they would say in Australia “its over mate”