grabs the mic checks the crowd smiles and flows

your already gonna lose so don’t even sweat-it, u were born not to rap so don’t blame me its ur genetics/
Your chances of winning are slimmer than anorexic Buddhists
Like tryin to cure cancer through prayer, your attempts are useless
Like a boring fable, whackness is all you've brought to the table
Your punches couldnt be shockin if they came with an electrified cable
I’ll Dismantle your entire "vertebrae" so I can really get on you "nerves"
stab you to death with a "fork" and "knife" so you know you got "served"
I put my ear muffs on and battle you, just to avoid your feeble wackness, I'm mad pissed, and you at the top of my "People To Smack" list
You couldnt spit sick shit if your mouth projected an AIDS patients diseased feces
I'll make sure your life ceases and expires quicker than ODB's property leases
Flowing?-You're whack-at-it, so I suggest you go back and rework your battle tactics
no one's flabbergasted at the fact that I spit thunder and you bring static
Fact is what I'm stating when I'm sayin the only heat your makin is friction from your masturbatin
in solid steel casin you couldnt survive these verbal slugs I'm sprayin