Postin' first to place ya' membrane out of its `sane` state,
phase ya' face when I spit hits that places first in this race//

Whipe out ya' fake-race, till its alien like and abnormal,
place an eraser to ya' lifes journal//
Now salute to ya' colonial//

Got ya' cupped in my palm, ya 'full of shit' ya' steady "clogged",
No struggle to overcome ya' death-plot-cuz ya' in the hands of God// (God being me)

I'll crush ya' so hard that you'd be unable to spit a good hit on me,
'Attempted' murda means fate, so ya' placed in BombZ death penalty//
If I wrote down my thoughts, you still couldn't kill me mentally//

Ya' fuq'ed wit the wrong nigga when you IM'd me for a challenge,
Stressin', cuz ya' feel threatened by the way I 'spit' gallons//

Check ya' balance, unstable nigga wit a rapidly beating pulse,
A heart attack will occur as the "BombZ vs H.o.G" comes in with its results//

Heart failure seemed faulse, its the fear of vibes that I spread,
Like I spread butter over ya' soft rhymes thats more edible then bread//

Tryin' to think of what you can do to me,
How you gonna go through me when you havn't even passed through puberty//

Spittin' dope lines is a mune to me, rap-battles isn't what it use to be//
Niggahs like place a bad name to rap-worlds community//
This niggah is more fake than the dollar stores Jewlery//

Your soft, Ima blow a whole in ya' ass as you stand,
Impacted to blow from a hold of ya' Gods Hands//