i'ma spit d fyne's obituary and that's enough to leave his fucking pre-writtens buried/
and i don't even need effort to leave this fake rapper laid out in the cemetery/
my rhymes violent while your whole fuck and approach is silent dialect/
so open your eyelids da crew you ride with doesn't even move cause none of y'all are even old enough to drive yet/
d fyne gets bent easy like a cars fender and he only serves soft spit like a bartender/
after this hot shit nobody's reading your post just like it's marked returned to sender/
i know why you want me to spit first but thats not a reason for you to fear me/
unless they told that i carry more heaters than sears delivery/
i spit heat enough heat for you to sweat and pass out/
leave you in da position to get fucked like a bitch with her ass out/
you couldn't beat me if i was on stairs and you were riding on the elevator/
and you couldn't beat me on da streets cause i got more tools than tim taylor