ya aint evil kid i'll step on u fair-fight, say summin bad about u- and that was ya last-line/
ya rhyme looks like crap out the ass, i'm poundin ya drafts-killin emcees-but ya dun't even count as half/(one)
droppin this turd he'll neva-learn, with spits that call for more of a joke-then referee's with low-sperm/
1, 2 check the mics in, i got a light-in-findin grim's weakness-and it's not just in-writin/
free-agent no wonder, ya nuthin but under-my skillz'll burn ya soul like drinkin alcohol in the summer/