Sorry i'm a little late...here's my verse:



Flatline vs. C-man...I guess this brawl is certain/
but you already know your 'Ass' is Unsafe, Like Prison Showers without Walls-or-Curtains//

You say you spit hot? Ya may be 'cursed' cuz ya fail to burn sparks/
I'll leave this nigga's chest 'caved in' worse than 'Dale Earnhart's'//

I'll wreck spells (Caps), drop ya keyboard cuz you didn't elevate, ya text fell/
Next? Well, Skills? You're simply “not producing” like your “Sex Cells”//

He says he can spit, but watch this liar perspire as I bring the fire/
Primed to 'cook' this tired 'cat' like I was a 'Chinese chef' for hire// (chinese chefs...rumoured to cook dogs, cats etc...)

Veins Elude And Become Divisible, Exhaust Ya Cause And Have To Exort In Minimal//
Ya Ports Are Cynical, But This dude's “plays” Always Gets “Pissed On”, Like Cups In “Sport Phsyicals”//

Cut ya flight, this kid will have no Air-lines to stand one/
C-man? Nobody's “Feeling” your “Flow’, like an unused tampon//

You can't match my lines, I got more than graph paper/
The closest you'll ever get to fire's a tour at match makers/
You the core of ass rapers, guys sayin' "thanks for hittin all the spots"/
I'll destroy ya dreams and have the remains mailed to ya 'box'/(mailbox)

You got all of your shit messed up like 'buyin' rentals'/
My rhymes'll burn you so bad they have to identify you by ya dentals//

Knowin' you, chances are my lines already got you confused/
perplexed when i flex, like color blind kids playin wit rubix-cubes//

My punches hit so hard I'll have this lame sailin' when I knock/
Just a matter of time before I have the respect of the game like Pac//






There it is man...11 bars...good luck.