Quik...
I printed out your rhymes, and gave em to my one year old...
And with her little crayons, she turned shit into gold.
Cuz they're worse than elementary, hell, worse than pre-school...
My baby girl spit better than you, and she was leakin drool.
I saw Quik fishin, and he got him a bite, while cold chillin on a dock...
But he got overpowered, yanked in the water, cuz he's light as an empty-clip Glock.
I'm shattering Quik's dreams, if I was a bitch, you'd call me Mr's Dash...
I'm blanding your "spice", "rack"ing your brain, bringin your hopes down with a crash.
I'll even bust a disorder, split personalities, tag team ya incognito...
Be a double masked man, with metal in hands, deal ya a fatal Con"chair"to.
Quik wants to be a Diva, hangin with Celine & Dionne, cuz he's a fame seeking whore...
He'd even trick for a "John" named Elton, cuz he thinks "That's What Friends Are For".
Bitch, you've got no ambition, you were in a porno flick, but called in sick!
All that pussy, but ya became a wussy, sportin a stage-frightened dick!
Hittin Quik like a ton of bricks, look at your head : cracked it...
But it was funny how you died, so I'll have Naked Gun re-enact it.
Cuz you're a bigger boob than Leslie Neilsen, even he'd kill ya...
Leave you battered worse than Frazier, at the end of "Thrilla in Manila".
I knew Quik couldn't fight, I saw Webster beat him down and leave him bleeding...
Can't run either, cuz he had a head start, and little man still caught him as he was fleeing.

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Merkings will occur Monday thru Friday, 8 am thru 5 pm, C.S.T.
For my convenience, not yours!