yo kid, never in ya life, you were never a winer //
the only thing you ever did good was servin my diner //
if hip-hop was a religion you would be a siner //
you would be burned 2 your ash, like a pest, sent 2 your final rest //
this battle is like a test, you either win or you lose, get a bullit tru ya vest, str8 into ya chest //
a wanna be gangsta like you, I take you down like I'm fuckin Eliot Nest //
cuz my rhymes humiliate you more then a sarge screamin "give me your best!" //
your whole life is a lie, like those Britny Spears nude fakes //
you are so uterly lost like a car with no brakes //
you must be blind if you can't see that your verses are soft like cakes //
your flow is 2 slow, punches 2 weak, n rhymes 2 ordinery //
if you want 2 defeat me, you better bring artilery //
cuz I'm a STARR, I kill all in my way, like a fucking war machinery //
cuz my rhymes can be so sharp like a sword-of-stell, strike you str8 into ya heart n end your free-will //
destroin your interior organs, givin you wounds that can't be heal //
2 survive that is so imposible, like Pamela's tits bein real //
but I'll never give you part of my skill, no mather what ya ofer me, we'll never have a deall //
fuck you, If I ever want somthin from you, I'll blast you, I'm not kidin //
it's good that you spit 1st cuz your wack raps are nuthin but feedin //
4 that you gonna get shot like 50 but you ain't be fucin brethin... //