I wished you good luck, and you know you're gonna need it,
even if the score was 9-0 on my cock, you couldn't beat it/
the only thing you're rollin is crepes, like you're a frenchman,
your rhymes are only in grade 1, I give them lyrical detention/
I strike fear into the hearts of the weak, I'm the unknown,
I'm controlling the transmission, I put you in the Twilight Zone/
I bust a cap on father time, so the words I spit are untimely,
if you was mother goose or dr seuss you couldn't put out a rhyme g/
like you entered tut's tomb, these words are like your lyrical curse,
I cut out your tounge so you're speachless, trying to mime out a verse/
you're a Spanish boy right? I'm the bull chargin down your street,
impaled on these words you're just a piece of lyrical meat/

well, bring on the votes people

__________________
Life isn't a bitch...
she's just sick of being personified -Sage Francis