yo what happend to u son, under your name it says vet but your record is a bad one/

it seems u lack verbal instinks, u miss the point in text battling thats why yea rhymes stink/

this shit ain't a game kid u lame, they call you in-fame-ous cuz u can never over reign/

u dickryding faggot, u capture similaties to a small maggot, you both come from garbage/

u couldn't -harvest- for a great -win-, -ter-n yea neck -360- while i spit -ice- again/(harvest for a 'win'ter, winter comes around (360)( a cirlce)

U -freezing- up now probably, afta u see ma spit u gonna wanna fallow me/

cuz u bite the weak kid i can tell by the rhymes u speak, you couldn't get a good win like the heat you seak/

Ill break-yeah-neck like i was busting-rhymes over yeah head/

i'll spit hallow tips but it's no use when you already killed your self with led/ (your pencil)

your signs are looking red, like the reaper was at your door, sooner or later all your wins will hit the floor/(drop)

thats all i had time to do

match it up please
if you don't then fuck you
im out

peace

__________________
KAUTIOUS

PhSyCoLoGiCaL LyRiCiSt