talkin' bout records when your nil to one
motherfuckers like you defuse their own bombs
you're right about one thing it's hell against you
cuz your lyrics are weak still think your styles new
if your the moon bitch then here comes the sun
you reflect my skills cuz i'm number one
in case you can't count, you ain't a hero
your battle record suggests 1 comes after zero
talkin' bout salaries your skills can't make shit
bitches like you only make people sick
so i'll hit and i'll spit while you lick on a dick
you think your sick but your shit i toss you up in a pit
you think you ride or die, this coward just runs
with you tail between your legs like a bitch while my guns
blast at you, bullets harrassin' you
drop to the floor, you stay poor DaMoon who?