Here we go:

Like murderin Fred Flintstone, I'ma Yabba Dabba Do you in,
The only thing spittin quick here are camels, like fast egyptians/
narcoleptics in mud puddles, I leave cats taking dirt naps,
I'm battling the boy in the bubble the way I make you collapse/
your rhymes are artificial, like being born in a test tube,
you're masturbating so much you'll get a job at Mr.Lube/
challengin to duels, you get smacked with leather gloves,
if you was a pharmacist, then you still couldn't rise above/
You're always fifteen bars behind, you're a lyrical retard,
gangsta? you're only in a police car if you work at Scotland Yard/
like "herbs trying to spit words", I'ma give you a "weed whack",
you make up adjectives and verbs, bringin grammar school back/
you'll be"Ice Cube" in my freezer, I leave rappers dead,
breakin the ends off cocks is the only way you bust heads/
I lace tracks like shoes, tying them up tight in a bow,
like a 24hour freestyle, dude, you're spittin slow/

well, that might be enough
your turn

__________________
Life isn't a bitch...
she's just sick of being personified -Sage Francis