When your mind dements, it means my rhymes commenced, your rap style reduced to crap pile due to your own incompetence//
Your lucky your a brain surgeon, and that's your skill, you'd lose it tryin' to stop cerebral divergin' from my lines so ill//
You should practise fusion, cos you need to connect two skulls quick, but the theory of kinetic energy can't penetrate some~thing that thick//
You've lost your vocab, so buy a pince-proof vest, cos I'm a shore crab who'll eat your lyrics but mince the rest//
Could your synical mind get any slower? I'm a rhyme thrower, to leave you with one man boob and melt your ice cube with my lyrical flame thrower//
Shit's the only thing your spawnin', all you do is uninspire and rant, if skill was an organ, you'd require a transplant//
I'll choke you to suffocation with lyrical detergent, you need Dre's* medication to rise your skill above emergent//
And after you take the rhythmic soap, you'll be unable to burp it,
Cos I'm a wasp leavin' you unstable to survive a sting that's allergic//
And on a final note, you've achieved a basic doctor's degree,
But leave before I beat you down with my mechanics Ph.D//
I'm employin' thermodynamics to cut up fish in the sea, and deployin' you on a plate cos your tonight's su~shi//

*Doctor Dre, notice the connection between "doctor" and "medication" :P