So Mr. Pestilence
You got a disease of wackness
I’ll make sure to note it in your Last Will & Testament
If you want to be just as good as me on the mic
You mid-as-well smoke a blunt
Then transform yourself into the Lord Jesus Christ
Cuz my flows is tight
Compare my works to obesity in g strings
I’ll just give your face 1 slug
It’ll still feel like a million bee stings
When the hot metal gives your features a warm hug
Battlin me…I’m worse then pipe bombs in the mail
Watch as my lyrics travel explosively in your system
Like your stomach digestin Taco Bell
So go ahead nigga and digest me
Bare handed
Watch me crunch your spinal column like a Nestle
Got you seeing Dead People of your favorite rappers
You on the ground screamin
“Master Blaster is the fuckin bastard!!!!!!!!”

*take it or leave it*

~1~