damn son, you're really afraid to spit first arn't you . . . aiight bitch . . .

fuck bein’ DIPLOMATic, you’re about to die in this fight//
you’re lines are only dope cause you do coke and you get high when you write//
even if Pete Rock produced your shit you’d still have no SOUL, BROTHER//
you so fuckin’ slow you probably didn’t get the concept to COMMON’s “I used to love h.e.r.”//
so take your loss and feel relieved like when you receive the results to your AIDS test//
you shameless, thinkin’ you can test the respect my name gets//
I’m too distinguished with lines too hot to be extinguished//
flows so fluid it sounds more like Spanish than English//
so stop actin’ like you ain’t SEEIN’ ME, I can detect your senility//
I’m about to test your PERCEPTION and impeach your credibility//
you’re no competition, I spit more rhythmic renditions//
droppin’ complex compositions on ya' whole army, dis-enlist kid//
so don’t resist or I’ll beat you like I did X-plicit’s bitch//
ease up with that skepticism and cynicism, I’m cumin’ with more sadistic shit//
you’re a fuckin’ homo and I’m choking ya, you stink ur through//
like Common’s Sense Resurrection disk, leave you all pink and blue//
you better start spitin’ and stop swallowin’ cock//
when I stick you in that grave is the only time you gonna be down with the ROC//
there was no second shooter, bitch check the Zapruder tape//
I stay debunkin’ CONSPIRACIES and you the latest to be labeled fake//