When battling u it just so happens that my raps are too phat to flatten//
With all the stats u lackin, u aint rappin, u actin//
You exaggerate bout a bad re-enactment of an accidental stabbin//
And then talk in the past tense about shit that has yet to happen//
Front and center, side by side, from the bottom right to top//
I’ll have six sides to my story to give you writers block//
Decipher plots precise to leave you light in shock//
U aint nice wit glocks, you probably like to fight with rocks//
Im like a clock, with a face, two hands, and the gift of speech//
In one second I can go from rip to teach from spit to preach//
Im fit for feats to write up scripts up to fifty sheets//
Im the type to trick ya treats, u what the pistol seeks//
Its my duty to put whack rappers like you back in there place//
Smackin yo face so hard, you think im packin some mace//
And if you invading space, ill push u back 10 paces//
U couldn’t dogde fake bullets in you was in the Matrix//
I explode, excite when I flow or write, look how long I hold da mic//
I control my life, you got no life like the poltergeist//
A ghost at night, u rely on pure luck like rollin dice//
And go toe-to-toe wit mice, Im so nice, I could roast u twice//