Ok...
Like I said in Bitch Slapped...
20 Line Max...
No Flippin

Here ya go...

Feeling literary...
Bumping some fantasy shit...
Going back in time...
Now...



Once upon a time, in a land far away, two little babies were born...
The Notic grew to a jester, Born to Kill, a king with regal clothing worn...
The King was fond of his jester, his cute little rhymes amused him...
Sometimes The Notic would vary his act, don boots and Riverdance his limbs...
Everything was cool in the kingdom, until that fateful day...
The Notic's head grew too big for his shoulders, his ego got carried away...
See, Born to Kill was a good King, he let his jester get laid, and threw him gold dimes...
He let him have weekends off, and beat up on the mimes.
The Notic was great at funny verses, but now he thought he could spit...
So King Born stepped up, to show him...jesters and spitters don't fit.
Before the battle, the King let him know, trying to take Camelot has a price...
Lose the battle and you lose your life, if I could, I'd behead you twice!
The Notic kept his nuts, they're heads started to butt, and immediately the jester was reeling...
Verbal daggers and steel swords, Notic screamed from the pain he was feeling!
So Born to Kill showed mercy, opened wide his jersey, and let the Notic spit a whack attack!
Harmless lines and jumbled flow, nothing that even broke skin...
The King reared back and with a final attack, aimed for clown-face, and plunged his sword in!
The Notic became a dead ass jester, who should have known his place...
The Moral:
Clowns shouldn't try to be Kings, like fat men shouldn't race!

The End

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