My styles arcane, it leaves rappers lame in the brain so they can’t spit straight/
My lyrics’ll plunder your thoughts, cause your “flow” is like “scared teen girls”, its to “late”!/
I “pillage vocab”, “destroy your bars” with my “verbal blitzkriegs”/
You could never “live up” to my “stand”ards, like I “chopped off this cats-legs”/
I spit the most “noxious” of flows, causing “virulent infections” to “exhaust” your “brainstream”/
Your “mind” is “running outta words”, cause you got “verbs sprinting outta ya dreams”/
I’ll “eat” you like “pawns” on a “chessboard”, “checkmate” your raps, cause I easily “Queen-this”/
Even if Withersman “jacked off his brain”, he still couldn’t have a “stroke of genius”/
My lyrical assault will “deplete ya stamina”, “take ya breath away” like I “tore out ya lungs”/
Withersman couldn’t be “hard on my level” if he used “ladders with viagra rungs”/