aiight, look . . .

369 posts with no record, c’mon son where do you see yourself?//
it’s like your tryin’ to reveal yourself but you’re really tryin’ to conceal yourself//
but I’m the only one here who really “lyricizens”, it’s a word – check this fucker’s bio//
cleanin’ my lyrical weapons, so get set to get BUCKed in the EYE like you from Ohio//
how you gonna challenge me mentally when you’re mentally challenged, that shits absurd, right?//
you can’t spit this magnificent, on sit on pedestals and you clean toilets on the Jersey Turnpike//
you’ll never be the fall of me, you could recite Talib Kwali’s whole CD and still lack sufficient quality//
it’s probably your insufficient ability keepin’ your probability of winnin’ a fraction of equality//
make certain that you’re hurtin’ when I spit these flows that leave you lifeless//
I got appraisers estimating my verses’ worth and my portfolio is priceless//
and it’s all liquid, while yours is solid matter that doesn’t really matter//
similar to excrement, and it just hit the fan so you might wanna step back to avoid the splatter//
leavin’ you shakin’ worse than rehabilitation centers during earthquakes//
you get lyrically laced with these rhymes that are celebrated like birth dates//
the average age in your familys about to decrease as I bust a nut up in your father’s wife//
and here’s an MC section for his fuckin’ son who shouldn’t have bothered at life//
your thoughts are cluttered but your intellect is desolate like the aftermath of armageddon///
me not beatin’ you, that’s like the godfather refusin’ a favor on the day of his daughter’s weddin’// (check the premise for “the Godfather”)
your verse was simply sacrificial so if any of those were you’re good lines then you should’ve saved ‘em//
cause I got abrasive like you’re mother’s pubic hairs when she forgets to shave ‘em//

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