Play? Like kid play... da cracka wit da eraser head?//
All fuked up , all doped up, like a tru-b white boy...poppin too much sudafed?//
Lyricly i attack u when u awake, up, an arising//
catastrophicly droundin ya lyrics wit only 2 drops of visine//
limit ta how ya flo?, be whether or not god intends for ya ta grow//
mus be why u da equivalent ta napolean//
talk-tuff but height...not-so...missed ya shot? no worry ill give ya one more mull-igan//
over-flowin: is my mind... wit shit to incur deep fractures within each an every skullular fragment//
spits from u leavin acidic fumes....to foul..to be recognized...absolutely stagnent//

But as it is u probly know da victory in here is below my grasp//[cus he short]
Ur tryin to hold at me at 6-8 but C u heard im all but passed//

Gun above Ghost-rider mus be da only one u can budget from ya verses//
Only way u get a real image, be by snaggin bitch's purse's//
Ghost-rider on the other hand gives ya tha impression that ur lines would flo immemsley tighter//
readin thru to da last of my lines, comparin ryhmes, got u wishin u a ghost-writer//