(This nigga LastPoet703 tryin' ta bullshit when he sees a real G on the street... talkin' mad shit on the boards, but when we out in the real world... he's a punk marked bitch. HOLLA!)

Sixteen temps from the gunners release potential energy currents//
Outlining innards when we secrete stenciled snubs in the stomach//
Cracking timbers, heat to the head as we're sequentially mental carpenters//
Backs get splintered, Poet eats the lead like seventh century pencil sharpeners//
Poet, you done fell off since the destruction of the first RB scene//
You got logical means? Not shit, You ain't dope, you just got chronic dreams//
You ain't feeling the illness, 'cuz your skill is not contagious//
Gun shots outrageous, slip the clip, Rap Battles... you need to turn the pages//
Poet, I hope you're well, i'll stab ya trachea and ya throat will swell//
Son scope with nails, you ain't gettin' it kid like tryin' to pass dope through jails//
You shakin' with glocks and you're shooting with no focus//
I'm breakin' the clocks and i'm movin' to blow, so hold it... //
Shock with darts, like clots in ya blood, i'm here to stop ya heart//
God Son, stoning the pages, 'cuz I told you God gonna rock the charts//
Revealing the name, no matter what, i'm still killing the same//
Enigmatic, doin' open dome surgery, let me start by peelin' your brain//
This is not a fight, 'cuz you're not worth the breath//
E, the marksman waiter, and i'm here to serve ya death//
Before you go crying to Mommy, let the facts be known//
Stack and smack ya bone, macks and tones crack ya dome//
Stains on ya sweater. The name's Enigmatic, and no one will ever be better//
Leave you dead with the letters, and when the time comes, heads will be severed//
Ha, ha, it's funny how that weak nigga LastPoet, keeps intendin' to speak//
When all his text flows lack heat, like wounded horses trying ta run laps on track meets//
You sound as if you're fourteen, with ya soft vocals and ya poor speech//
Watch me get artistic like most critiques, and come gallore, destroying your torn spleen//
This kid's taking more body shots, then a whore fiend on Morphene//
Rip ya, and make ya corpse bleed, like an old king that had scorned dreams//