My flow can’t be contained, break through your "rib-cage" and make your "lungs" wet/
Smoka strikes out with girls, can’t be "French" that’s why he always "tongue-less"//
Rhymes are old they never get noticed except when u change lines to bold/
U shooting-blanks, so when I’m hit, like virgins having sex u can’t find-the-hole//
I spit flames when I face you, that’s the reason my rhymes never back-fire/
Shit in a bulls-eye I’m untouchable, u couldn’t "find-your-mark" even if you "tracked-tires"//
Text is cold and chilly, every-time u enter tournaments you known blown-it/
Cause like "Duncan" missing the final shot, u always fail at the "Spur-of-the-moment"//
Your skills "can’t be found" like "tracing evidence" on "hacked sites"/
My losses and wins are even, u'll try to sway priests to vote just so they can bap-ties//

ur turn