Amp doesn’t have original shit, he likes to feed more… then homeless-starvin’-bums/*
You’ll think he’s in the marchin’ band… the way he gets, beat-on-more-then-drums/

This kid spits nuthin’ but shit… alright, who’s the wise guy that, defecated-in-his-mouth?/
Amp is already past his prime, and only has four wins… now his record is headin’-down-south/

You couldn’t hit me with punch and jab combos… if you were spittin’ combination locks/
My verse comes with the force of earthquakes… but Amp’s gettin’ beat, by-my-after-shocks/

I told him to make his verse more complex… so he started keystylin’ verses about rubik-cubes/
Amp can’t be serious with that verse… must’ve been experimental, like-babies-born-in-test-tubes/

Amp has “parental advisory” as his avatar… when he’s spittin’ nuthin’ but nursery rhymes/
Aite, I’m done wastin’ my time, he tried to conquer this mountain… when he can’t even climb/

*Fed off my sig.