alright . . . check it . . .

hot like stolen whips, I’m about to brake this fagggot down like stranded gay motorists//
How you gonna connect with a hot punch when you’re throwin’ hits wit’ frozen fists//
Flowin’ through you like the canals of Amsterdam, connect like ampersands// (used to claim he was from the Netherlands)
Inflictin’ so much fear in this "lil-dick" imma make you empty your pampers, man//
This “lil” faggot doesn’t masturbate for pleasure he does it for practice//
Just in case he has chapped lips on the same day he’s getting’ his ass fixed//
after Metaphysical you’re record’s gonna be 20-7 like dyslexic rhythm and blues groups// (702)
thinkin’ you can hang with me – “laugh” - you need to cut that like a Hasidic Jew’s cooch//
your response to this -of minimal success like Canibus’ first commercial release//
you can’t “produce” such genius, so “Wy” try it’s just not in your “Jean”s // (Wyclef Jean produced Canibus first album)
quotin’ and boastin’ about played out “scrabble” metaphors in your signature//
your mentality is miniature when compared to my elephantine literature//
You lack skills like Home Depot without insufficient inventory - it’s my mission to end this story//
makin’ sure you know that even though you can’t see me your faggot-ass still can’t ignore me//

. . . on you . . .