he thinks hes a ill mc wow hes even 2hot2handle//
this kid couldnt sling weight,from metal if he threw-pots-from-handels//
like new groth from plants,this kids all herbish-spits//
like boys with turetts,hes spitin words,with no rhyme scheem,id just call them nerveious-fits//
this nutty professer couldnt bring a heavy weight verse if he came with shermens-tits//
his spit was more like a song of poetry,not a battle-verse//
im threatin with beef,but who nows my aka is tha butcha ill even leave his cattle-hurt//
this kid say he got writers block,i stoped his verse like a fat santa in small chimaneys//
i got this battle won from the start so please kid tell me..how u sapose to be killin-me//