U think ya got game in hiphop? Here go play with ya vocal cords/
Im takin flight.. leave yall neckless behind like lil kim at the airport/
And there for Im robbin you.. becuz I still dont give a fuck son/
U so broke... how can I kick in ya door when ya house aint got none?/
im the type of dude ya seein the streets poppin my guns/
you da type of faggot that go ta jail and drop the sope for fun/
Check ya tempeture.. you claim to have a fever but you aint sick/
Ight Ill admit that u’re ill... but I dont want no seizures on my dick/
Ill make u fall & stop so dont get up.. after this battle better call the cops/
U hittin puberty is like a lottery.. Becuz we still waitin for the balls to drop/
All of your verses remind me of slope skiing... cuz they keep on goin-down-hill’’/
Scared so ur throwin-down-pills cuz after this ya wont hold the flowin-crown-still/
need alotta luck dawg... so I’m imagining that’s why you tend to write on clovers/
U live for internet rapping and u just got beat so I guess that means your life is OVER/