Audo, to tell you the truth, you’re whack… for that verse, you’re ‘bout to get lyrically smacked/
You dickrider, your name should be changed to Juvenile ‘cuz you’re always “backin’-that-ass-up”/

His intelligence is absent in his verse, it’s sorta like a retarded kid… it’s a no-brainer/
Kid couldn’t “break-into-the-industry” if he was surrounded by glass, my verse can easily contain-her/(container)

Audo’s tryin’ way too hard, yet he couldn’t wrap a nice verse… if it was the twenty-fifth of December/
He’s-‘bout-to-go-down-in-embers, with-his-fellow-clan-members, like this battle… was-the-eleventh-of-September/

You’re way too fake, kid sprawled himself out on the pavement so he could say-he’s, “in-touch-with-the-streets”/
His whack verse was the trick… but my rhymes the treat, i’ve heard all this “punches” before, it seems like this battle is on-repeat/

Audo’s punches are secret like the F.B.I.… has to find ‘em in his notes, then-highlight-them-with-quotes/
You couldn’t win if i spit one line, you must be runnin’ for office the way you’re always campaignin’ for votes/

This kid ain’t straight, he couldn’t get to second base with a girl even if they were playin’ baseball/
Your verse comes at the speed of a crawl, this verse’ll knock you out quicker then fat kids playin’ dodge-ball/