He's 22-9......Gotta Bring It All To This Battle......Fed Up Of Waitin For Fgee......Clears His Mind......You Ready?......

Aight...

Look, Fgee Couldnt Produce Underground Shit Even If He Wrote It At A Graveyard/
Representing Scotland? This Faggot Lost 9 Coz All Ur Rhymes Remind Us Of Brave Heart/
Even If You Wrote Ur Rhymes On Ur Faeces You Still Wouldnt Be Able To Drop Shit/
You Could Share A Brain Wit Einstein But Yet Your Punches Still Wouldnt Be Half Wit/
Cut Out Ur Eyes And Stick Em To Ur Rear Just So You Can Be Able Watch Ur Ass Run/
Multiple Blows Comin From 1 Line, Ur Single Line Bullets Are Notin Compared To My Shotgun/
Let Me Guess...Fgee Thinkin He's Ill...He Says He Got Guns...Well My Gun Holds The Cure/
Fgee A Student Tryin To Learn How To Master How 2 Read Between The Lines...Aint Gonna Happen 4 Sure/
I've Already Layed Claim To This Win, I May Aswell Have His Arms, Now We Kno Why His Punches Are Un-Armed/
Firing Blanks In More Ways Than One, Looks Like I've Left This Battle Wit My Losses Un-Harmed/
Checked Out Sum Previous Battles, I Laughed 2 Death At Ur Weak Verses But You Still Didnt Kill Me/
Let Me Break It Down...Imagine This As Ur Bitch..."Fgee I Cant Feel You...Fgee, You Still Feelin Me"?!/
The Only Way You'll Ever Spit Like Me Is If You Eat My Verse Then Bring It Up Like Bulemic Women/
These Punches Punctured Your Lungs Coz Now We Kno Why Ur Verse Gonna Sound Like You Ran Out Of Wind/
You Can Take Ur Pen And Duel Wit My Rhymes But You'll Never Beat Em......Cant You Take a Hint/



There Ya Go......15 Lines......

Good Luck...

*Edited For Spellin Mistakes*