Ready to thrust a knife through ya chest, until it's compressed/
Carve ya up and digest all of ya bars until i get a cardiac arrest/

I'm kinda lika a tumar on ya chest, 'cuz ya really should be aware of me/
and also because i embarass ya skin so crimson bitches think you're a cherokee/

My rhymes focus to unleash the plague of locusts on Soft Focus/
Ya rhymes are as intelligent as first born, so I strike 'em down like Moses/

Can't resist the urge to physically make you a man of few words/
In other words, i'm gonna bury the hatchet and leave our problems minced in thirds/

You can't come hard in the battle, but even worse is in ya sex life you can't cum at all/
'cuz ya structure is as flimsy as ya soft cock but unlike ya streched lines it's a little more small/

My rhymes dice ya creating gills, cast my line into the ocean and snagged ya skills/
Realize that the 'depth might be more defining than me,' but does the depth write wills?/

Thrust bitch,i wish you would have heard that to battle Meters is to know a veil/ (no avail)
Punched ya lighs out so many times had to confirm ya of your loss in braille/

Your punches are dumber than a box of rocks, like a Talaban ya throwin' 'em at me/
Elevate my friend, start throwing twigs, atleast than your rhymes will be snappy/

__________________
tobacco pipe smoker
escobar, your life is over
justify the righteous nova
bullets flew out his right shoulder