ur lines are garbage, u cant even draw a neat kitten |
either ur frees are bitten or newport's addicted to pre-writtens |
ur a joke, I hate to see ur smoked like the lungs of hippies |
give this cunt whiskey to prove he's pussy, then gun his kidneys |
I've sonned this fake, he's a carbon box so I'll literally crush his fate |
like 2 funeral churches, he re-hearses his verses thats why he's never a-wake |
newport put's the lamp on but still cant think brightly, I think it might be |<-his sig
this light pea can never Do The Right Thing like Spike Lee! |
false rumors goin around that u ill, u pray n hope its true |
before im done, im'ma glue ur verse to ur face so now..the jokes on you! |