I ‘spit’ shine my boots and stamp-on-your-rhymes /// to stop you from slippin you’ll need a clamp-on-your-lines
I ‘Slam Harder’ like Onyx; I father hydroponics /// you couldn’t raise your level with the aid of hydraulics
I’ll abolish your verse, and break your writing-hand /// you’re more like O-Town, fuck making, I’ll fight-the-band
My slight-of-hand stops you breathing; it’s time-for-respiration /// I just foreseen your death like in Final-Destination
You lines are wooden, you’re a puppet I can see-the-cord /// your buttons are easier to press than a muthafuckin keyboard
I flipped my lid, the words you use-are-to-big /// I’ll go back in time and abuse-you-as-a-kid