meadskillz?, (pause) be honest dog you need skillz//
you must get off flirtin' wit' death, and this battle is another one of your cheap thrills//
but this time you ain't gonna survive cause i'm too complex for you//
fuck your verse, start workin' on your DE-composition cause this shit right here is the death of you//
fuck your vehicle, i'm stealin' your whole soul in less than 60 seconds//
and leave you questionin' your physical presence cause of the sense of death that you're left with//
imma lyrical surgeon the way I operate wit' percision//
and your persistence at spittin' is pathetic so just listen//
there's a method to my madness and a madness to my methodolgy//
but all your analogies are analogous to the subject of gonocolgy//(pussy)
so you better douche to clear your mind while I tie this noose around your ryhmes//
let's be honest bitch, it was suicide to think your lines could HANG wit' mine//
dog, can't you tell Mind Theory is mentally disabled, you actually believe the hype?//
you all over that crippled's dick like you Christopher Reeves' wife//
shit, i'll easily demonstrate that this battle ain't fair bitch, believe me//
how can i not ELEVATE when all the HOT AIR you spit is BENEATH ME// (hot air rises)
you're too simplistic, get beyond that "you a real lyricist" rhetoric//
you sound like a diralect and your aussie dialect is puttin' me to sleep like a seditive//
beefin' with this metaphysical individual, you just fucked yourself like a lonely hermaphrodite//
as I rip apart your physical like a satanic ritual, i wonder if you'll still be a phony in the afterlife//

spit . . .