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This win i’m ‘bout to get to clinchin’, me against you, believe i ain’t flinchin’, lookin’ for a battle with me… you must be itchin’ for a lynchin’//
You could be a corpse with a boner, still wouldn’t be “stiff” competition, you can’t take the heat, how’s that saying go… stay the fuck up out the kitchen//

You couldn’t spit hot lyrics if you drank a bottle of tabasco sauce, the only time you’re sick is when you’re sufferin' from memory loss//
I’ll have you lookin’ like Randy Moss(8-4), you called out like a bitch, now it’s time to get slapped across, why your lips so shiny… yea, i’m sure it’s “lip gloss”//

Like takin’ out the trash, you’re quick to get kicked to the curb, like mental patients… acceptin’ to battle me you must be disturbed//
Like alcoholics anytime you drop a verse… it’s slurred, you couldn’t be “fly” if you was a bird, hurt me with words… not even with violent verbs//

My skill’ll suppress your verse worse then cubans by fidel, you get clowned on worse then the bengals of the N.F.L., can’t rebel so he picked up his lapel//*
You get ripped easier then gimpy A.C.L.’s, bring your Dells and Intels you still can’t excel, your stay at RB has been swell but it’s time to say your farewells//

You’re hard like boiled spaghetti, put our skills together, my foot’ll “meet-balls”, whack emcees i maul, you’re in for a brawl, i’ll make you shit your draws//
Like defective cars and Grey Davis, your verse is quicka be recalled, i’ll bloody you worse than girls on periods throwin’ errant punches against a brick wall//

*Lapel is another word for collar and like rebels pick that up around their neck to be tough.

(I didn’t say shit bout “2%” ‘cuz I know that’s played)