You give props, when I drop peices like weighted rocks
You tell me I'm so damn dope. . but wish it would stop
So sit there, conceil yourself in dicks, and just hate cock
Cuz we all know I drop better shit. . on my days off....

Text means shit right ? I'll amount to nothin without mic fights
So keep saying your dope, Reach For The Stars, but only touch the lights
And everytime I drop a fuckin peice this is what I get..
"Dope lines, concept was awesome, but sometimes it doesn't make sense..
Flow was off, and where are your multis man ?"
Shut up bitch, metaphor like the backside of my hand
Cool Edit Pro your way into the hearts of each of these fags
Cuz I realize how bad audios treat you. . so that's fame I've never had
People just reply to get their links in my threads, just say "You're sick"
I'd much rather pick your teeth out of my knuckles kid
"Oh your lines are clever, and punchlines bruise faces..
But maybe you should kill the humor and stick multis in these places"
Flow is shit in text, yet each of these so called vets
Tell me to better my textual flow like it's a religious set
And maybe I'm wrong, perhaps I'll eat these words as a lesson..
When I'm scalping your concert tickets. . to the nose bleed section

But until that day comes. . suck my nuts. .