Ya thought ya could beat me, but like priests gettin killed, da circumstancs have all changed//
Dis shits all fame, but like like a marathon on testicles...im runnin dis ball game//
Call yaself Parrallel but like roaches in da light...ya runnin in all directions//
Spreadin like infection...you wack dawg, like a dude wit no girl gettin constant erections//
You be sayin ya makin a route in life but da highway is hershey//
His face is traced wit herpies...couldnt be 1-0 (10) if he rocked a Maurice Cheeks jersey//
He beggin for mercy...but instead, I slap him wit da pain//
I'm bloodthirsty, so I dont eat at da flesh but leave him in vain (vein)//
Boomin like thunder, leave em in blunder, eatin him up but still feel da hunger//
My mind lerks in wonder...and now Young Gunnin him down...wont stop till he six feet under//
He like a blind pothead...he got da shit, but must roll//
He freely handin me da W like a CD he just stole//