You say that all you eat for dinner is EMCEE's//
Well all I eat for dinner is between your momma's knees//
Im sorry that was harsh, and it was below the belt//
Buts thats where your momma heads for, after she has knealt//
You think you can beat me, you reckon youll be cruisin//
But no matter who you are, you cant fuken stop my bruisin//
The skill to rap, you know, is important//
But that's what you lack, your shit, you fuken impotent// (man with small penis)
You say that you got rhymes, you're a gangsta and you're black//
But everyone know you just white trash and thats a fact//
When you spit it will be a walkover for me//
Coz youre all talk and no quality rhymes u see//
What I want to know is 'why you battle the master?'//
Coz for any of my enemies it turns out disaster//
After I've spat youll be empty in your think-tank//
So youll feel depressed, go to gays.com and have a wank//
You see I got this battle mapped out punk//
After this spit, your words will be junk//
You should be afraid coz its you im gonna kill//
As youll find when the result is 5-nil//
I know youre sittin there quaverin with fear//
Just go home you freak, nobody likes you here//
You cant spit for shit, coz about raps you know nothin//
Just something to remember when you battle the king//

cop dat