This rap thing ain't a maze, but you appear to be lost/
If we was poets, you're Dr. Suess and i'm Robert Frost/
You spit loogeys, while I spit Champagne/
I'm speedin past you like you in the bike lane/
I ain't tryin to be hard, I don't kill people, I'm respectful to girls/
In that case, how you doin? Where you from? I like your curls/
When you rhyme, you can't use more than two syllables/
I tomahawk your scalp dogg, like a Florida State Seminole/
My rhymes are cruel, yours are kinda dorky, man/
My words assist your suicide like Dr. Kevorkian/
My rhymes are so pointy man, like the ears of Dr. Spock/
The police will find you, and outline your punctured body with white chalk/