sry was on the fone wit ma girl...1
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you get slaughtered in cold blood, throwin' punches to ya chest, i show no love/
now you're soul is missin at the end of the crossroads, with bone thugs/

i won't even let your breath-start, here, i'll pass some death-bars/
yeah i noticed, ya lines are so 'far fetched' i mistaken them for stretch-marks/

You gotta print in small text so your lines don't look stretched/
Some advice, dissin my name is more played than PS2's 'Grand Theft'/

Call me a profit cuz I can 'see' our paths aren't Parallel,/
This is child's play, I'll leave ya head spinning like a carose/

'Schooling me?' Para was cool until we all saw-him-die,/
Your last lines, cuz im'ma 'unload' until your spinal 'Column-Binds'/