I'm back, here's my verse:

dawg this isn't a re-match, it's your death re-lapse.//
see man you can't crack a blunt rap(wrap) without a rasor blade.//
an' yo-rap's so dull it's like safety scissors made by paper-mate.//
you got no game, wait.. you do, the game just don't want you.//
too lame for the industry, so like a sick horse I'm puttin' you outta your misery.//(lame is what you call a sick horse)
try'n to battle this MC is like adding insult to injury.//
cause after I cut you up in this round I'm comin' to gun you down in your city.//
forcefully I claim victory over this so called emcee.//
self-proclaimed dick-ryda, shit script writah, Un-emcee-able, even he know's he's un-able.//
in-capible of creatin graceful lyrics that don't 'cause ear-aches.//
your so-called hip-hop spirit must-a packed up an' left.//
'cause damn son, if that passes as rap tu-pac would be glad he's dead.//
you like biggie smalls, not notorious.. just a big talker with a small cock.//
oops, did I let ya secret out.. sorry bout that dawg.//
but hey, atleast I didn't tell RB about that shit you did with ya mom.//
with a flip of ya toung, and some stank old ass pussy cum.//
yum-yum, chew that shit up like a cow chewin' it's cud....//

^ I want to keep goin' on this, but it's 17 lines already....

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