On the microphone I'm violent like Ponchus Pilot, I'm naili'n MC's to crosses/
How you think ya gon' boss this, we got the same win count but you got 17 more losses/
if your had ya toungue in ya mans asshole, your battles still wouldn't be "toss-ups"/
this cat wouldn't have tight "bars" if he was locked up/
My ryhmes are verbal medication just call me da doct-a/
this cats "spit'n" masturbation, to gay porn in his sock drawer/
Like slid'n head first, I'm leav'n ya down in da dirt/
when you go outside you dont know what to wear, a gown or a skirt/
You try'n be a hard, but like ya av you aint nuthin like a baby/
Maybe one day you'll pick up a microphone and rock it, but until then you gotta get ya hand out ya pockets/
Even of this was pool, you still wouldn't be "solid", your styles so wack even docs dont know what to call it/
Call me crazy, but ya shit dont phase me, cuz ya more washed up than Patrick Sway-ze\
I'm blazing shit like phony hypicrites, while this ice berg couldn't even "sink da Titantic/
Cuz even if ya did fight ya own clone, ya "punches" wouldn't be strong enough to "hold ya own"/
This must be da special olympics, cuz no matter what you spit, I'm bring'n the medal home/