a yo,


iz, look at how g.t. rip on a track

u beatin me is like sayin micheal jackson black

that not possible, u battle well then lets begin

i dont have to write nothin i can sit here and win

so keep tryin, your girl swallow, she dont know how to choke

ill rip out your intestines, and use it for a jump rope

i dont lose, i choose, to wreck on you,

from rap to blues, u cant even kiss my shoes

i use, diffrent styles, never call me a liar

rip out your lungs and squeeze yo air out for my tires

call me g.t., im a problem, but im like chinese math

really hard to solve em

so theres nothin left, so hey yo place yo bet,

i would keep rappin, but to me theres nothin left