Aight, lets go…


Warm up

Your battling’s shit… your weak and your young
Babbling scripts, like a preacher speaking in tongues
Weaklings will run away from my wrath and my pain
This cat couldn’t rule on the mic if he rapped in the ‘reign’! (rain)
Attacking his brain, he’ll fall like rocks trapped in gravity
I love making his bones snap, like they were really mad at me
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Your-name’s-ass, watch as I aim the nine at your frame-and-blast
Blame-the-past, you shit wouldn’t be tight if I chained-your-ass!
I rip-with-claws, causing scars, while his crewmates sit-in-awe
You-spitting-soft, between your legs is the only place this bitch-is-raw!
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Mark-this-fool, erase your life, and carcass-too, I heard you-loss-a-few, cause when I said garbage, they thought-of-you!
You-fought-to-lose, Whyte got rocked out-the-planet, most of his punches like aliens, we saw them, but I doubt-they-landed!
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Killa!
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This is a definite knockout, my punches forcing concussions
Thug’s Whyte? I’ll make him red, and I ain’t talking about blushing!