theres no difference between this guy's jaw and ass, he spits shit both ways/ and acts masculine but on the side he hits on gays/ i collect more points per punch than bibby hits them trays/ he brings lyrical pistols and is met with my ak spray/ i rip out his soul, just to make his conscience listen/ and make his 'ass' know the 'shit' he's missing/
his spit left me bored like playing a game-of-tetris/ the distance im ahead of you cant be measured-in-metrics/ his terrets shit cant contain my best spit/ like the 'wrong size pants', he's just not 'fit'/ i make him 'sweat' like hairy 'armpits'/ i write hits while he's gettin ready to rehearse skits/ like 'bad clothes' his spits aint 'matching' mine/ like an 'assembly' gone bad, he just aint in 'line'/ ive finished him off before he ready to begin/ i got more flow than 'laden' got 'bin'/ and more style than the 'siamese' got 'twin'/ so put it on mp3, you'll just get killed a-gen/ i dont trust him, cuz this guys so shifty/ he has more pre-writ rhymes than a 'dolla' got 'fifty'/ im like 'kraft' because my 'products' so nifty/ so high above you already, you need an elevator to lift me/ your game is mythical like monsters in lochness/
you have no game, thats why i already locked this/
this guy cant flow, and his game is hopeless/
like a 'bad coke dealer' his rhymes are 'dopeless'/