Hey yo look, since ya only fourteen,
I'll try not to swear, I swear I'll fuckin' make my lyrics more clean,
how 'bout I drug ya moms with morphene
and make the whore phene,
for fourteen more of me,
cuz this dick's worn and mean,
leavin' ya mommy whor--ney and adorin' me,
This ain't a battle, it's mortal combat,
one punch from me--leave you in agon-y--like I'm Sammy with a corked ballbat,
and ya taken shots to ya whole anatomy,
while I'm swingin' for the fence like I've stolen gravity,
the impact of the bat's--got ya nads packed--in the back of your abdominal cavity.

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I'm a disaster waitin' to happen ya seen, but I'd rather be masterbatin' to a magazine.