i'm cutting into blood 'canals' the way i got 'panama' red/
your pathetic lines get sliced and kniffed more than a fat kids peanut butter spread/
wondering if he would enter the winners circle he looked into his crystal ball and only saw squares/peep avatar
only time u'd hear him spit while spinning is when he got on carousels at fairs/
like jockeys fallin at the first hurdle u won't be passing the finishing line, whipped this bitch hoarse every time he spits equine/
in an attempt to look gangsta this dude scarred his face/
then played GTA just to say he's been in a cop chase/
PR's verses are wooden so he tried to take a leaf out my book/
but i got novel ways to win with original volumes leavin u shook/
he flew Virgin airlines in an attempt to write tight lines/
but the only thing that took off was shit to the sky/
your brain is located in your cheeks bringing new meaning to dumb ass/
panama wishes he was a bitch cos gettin pregnant would double his IQ mass/
my words attack in 3 different directions like ur central to tri-angles, and they go unanswered like old msn handles/
your verse is radio'd static and out of tune like your stereo-types/
this guy wears a 24/7 t-shirt just to say he rocks mics all day and night


just match for length or whatever