aight then, i'll spit:

your battle raps, collapse like cattles hearts/
perhaps you got scraps talent, but your spits/
just relapse my ill-raps, you ain't more than a gallant/
you wack shit just helps elapse, gaps in my endless day/
there trendless, i work hourless to get my shit done/
although i've only just begun, my battle is like a stun gun/
leaving your spit, that has less grit, than a hamburger bun/
you now gonna throw a fit, and commit yourself to this bit/
that you know, is already polished, and ready to transmit/
it's gonna demolish you wack-shit, as luck would have it/
it has already abolished your battle, like a reverse stock split/
before you snuff it, with humiliation, why not just admit/
that your shit, just ain;t cutting it, it's discrimiation/
that i don;t generate congratulation towards your spit/
my determination to win, accelerating my temptation to sin/