Nigga please, try to control you're (Q)ueer (T)ension/
dick rippin' you're ass virginity, losing you're apprehension/
kill ya with the INK that satins my papers/
posses ya GHOST, I'm the WRITER, my HEAT an your cold produce vapours/
why you Rap anyway, you shoul (Q)uit the (T)echnique/
I make bread, like QT makes cum stained sheets/
while I'm throwin' mad punches, he hittin' back wit feather pillows/
suppose he came hard as a insect, but Funn's a armadillo/
shaking... he scared, aware I put the DON in Lon-DON/
This fuckin' PUSSY came prepared, equiped with a (Q)uality (T)ampon/
QT, you can't compete with the poetic scriptures I spew/
fuck the length of your verse I don't need to continue/