This Aint A Competition,I Lock This Pompous Bitch In,His Own Bars
Fithy Thinks His Spits Is Wet,I Knock His Rhymes Right Off The Sonar//
This Kid Cuts Grass In "Sketchers" Just To Say He "Mows Art"(Mozart)
Dont Try To Sound Intelligent When You See A Black Bird Covered In Chocolate Wrappers and Think Its a "Crow Bar"//
Ya Future Wouldnt Show "Stars" if You Time Warped Back To Kindergarten And Put Ya "Stickers" In a "Time Capsule"
This Nut Huggers Hanging From A Thread And I Play The Ripper To His Mind's Axil//
You Can Serve Mad Punches But Ya Aim Is Off Like "Blind Jackals"
I Grind Scalpals Throu Ya Adams Apple,Ya Death Is "Core"eographed
Heard Calibur Was Ill But Like "Armless Novelists" His "Story Wont Pass"//