masturbation like lyrics, sloppy and quick to cum.//
that's how this bitch game's run..//
I swear I'm-a go insane if I see one more lame punch.//
about gettin' "blunted" or smokin a "blunt", I get it.. that's my name, so-what?//
you not even second rate you like cocaine, dexdrose cut.//
the only way you'd be "Tha Raw" is if I put you on a blade and freebased you with a flame touch.//
melt you down to a blob of brown goo, inhale the fumes, now who's smokin' who.//
I guess you did fuck me up, but you the one left black and blue afta I hit'cha with one punch.//
like a warner bros. cartoon, lift ya eyelids and it reads "Out to lunch"//
must mean you out biting off other emcee's stuffs.//
writing ya loss off, as personal injury so atleast you get paid disability.//
made verses ill-indeed, your lyrics on sick leave.//
you got the industry on lock down, but your raps absent with-out leave.//
and little ol' vigulanty me's out to capture "DeJure" by any means necessary.//
even if it means that you laid to rest in a cemitary burried, I don't give a fuck.//
atleast you never spread your seed by gettin' married, then the world'd really need guns.//
one-by-one, ya family circle's hurtled into the bottomless abyss.//
the whole tree's chopped down, stump, branches, and limbs.//
burn the remains.. use the bones as sticks to play fetch with ya dawgs.. tha war-lords..//
"battle-bitch's" snifin' on eachothers balls and givin' eachother ritual rim-jobs.//

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