chuckle as I uper-cut and buckle this knuckle head.//
with one punch this guys jaws so slacked he can't spit let alone talk again.//
closed coffin' raps got you enbaulmed like my rhymes were formaldahyde.//
it's just a formality to die if your no-pal-of-mine//
choke down your lines, you bitin' mine like they were fresh out tha grind.//
the way I pressure your mind you could call me a migrane.//
the 'cause of most of those is getting hit by "my name".// (blunt->hard and flat)
when writing; do you stop to think if it makes any sence.//
your bar structure's like picturing a dog and pigeon try'n ta have sex.//
cry'n in past tense, don't give up yet.//
it's called puberty, we all go through it, you'll grow some balls yet.//

^11 lines.. deal with it


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