peep the verse

its time, when your battle record falls
i'll lyrically kill you, with a reasonable cause
u want me to spit first, bitch i'll kill you wit my curse
plus more crimes been charged on the written, instead of the verse
i'll expose the real bitch, i'll make you lift up your skirt
your flow is ugly, like ya face, when you was dropped at birth
the words are a virus, they jus be too contagious
you aint never dropped hot shit, except when it comes out ur anus
this aint for the weak, it only makes me humble
you rhyme makes me pissed, like tiki barber losin a fumble
look what you wrote, its not even half of what i be spitten
but we all know you, cuz that shit was already pre-written
if i wasnt a noobie, then you'd probably lose
i heard you was a catholic priest, but i aint a kid jus to be abused
the flow was deep, it kept me from being the lyrical scripture
i'll make you remember this battle, even if i developed a picture
im like a fiend, my rhymes have become so dependant
your flow looks enclosed, its like its apprehended
i pick up the dust and startin smoking the bud
i aint a gangsta, but i spill more red than a blood
i once killed a kid lyrically, then i fled
but i aint got to fuck u up twice, cuz i did that already on ya sista's bed