Your sound is sour and startin to smell,
sit back faggot I gotta story to tell.
You shoulda never got me started,
you need to go back to the special olympics,you sound retarded.
If my rhymes were a breakfast,they'd be G-R-R-R-E-A-T,
looks like were family now,cause your mom told me she's late.
My nine gots the flu,I'm about to cough on the trigga,
Aiming for your crotch,now you just another dickless nigga.
My rhymes are like Tyson in the sixth round,
They'll chew off ya ear and spit it out on da ground.