Drop-my-shit? I'd rather pop-my-wrist-and lock-ya-lips//
This Docs-a-prick, he sits and slobs-a-dick, while I knob-his-chick//
10 lines, which means I only need 6 to demolish his verse//
He couldn't *hex* my record, even if he was Droppin-a-Curse//
Even his avvy claims he likes jackin off, he can't-get-the-hoes//
Can't outwit my flows, even my worse rhymes is rockin-his-nose//
If anything, in this battle, this bitch will learn to take-a-hit//
Afterwords, he could call his man up, and learn to take-the-fist//
How this cat gonna battle me, he can't even spell correctly//
The tech gonna reflect from my belt, and meet his chest directly//
He got a vasectamy, that's right, he used to be a broad//
After I impale him with my verse, you gonna find out his ass is fraud//
Last two, I'll make it fourteen, he dreams of being the whore-king//
How he gonna spark a hot one, when his temp is minus four-teen??//

Uppin for ya verse

Peace!