Mothers over raged, he went 6 mothns past his ejaculation stage
His lines pre-played, this is medievil times so he is getting slayed
Bones crucnh with every word I produce, sufferage what I induce
No truce, back into a corner and beg for this spit not to be true
He don't got birthday, so he don't exist, spit were written but mist
He going on my herb list, so ugle mother wouldent give him a kiss
He said we a King, more like a goddess, no wait, I am to modest
Twist your arm out of it't socket, no use, send him to the closet
I reversed you inside out, ludacris says you gay, word of mouf
He from the dirty south, no wonder he spits white from his mouth

Now bitch, if you want to just roll over and play dead, you can, just take it like a man. MERKED!

__________________
<center>Soloist
Artist's Artifact
Look Into My Eye's<center>