ya need to stop rhyme'ing and go back to being a paperboy
cuz you'll have no play with punches... if you make it a toy
i'll shake ya noyd... this faget happy to battle think'in he's surrounded by gym-men
but i'll have ya soul hop outta ya cheast like the grimmlyns
how you the punchline champion... when the belt around ya neck
strangle ya to death...and perform C.P.R with a tazser every 1 thousend of a sec
you spit kiddy rhymes and look worst then p.diddy exsersize
go-ahead and flex-ur-size, cuz u'r punches are more fake then new york titty size
the truth... yea he really ly's... cuz only flow he overcome is a tides
no need for a strike when we no match..he just a bitch that wanna cum for a ryde
so if ya wanna test the kid.. punches i'll curl you like dumb-bells
ya done... well.... i'll have to strip ya moms and girl for a cd cover only way u gone-sell
and by my punches and style you can tell our
style far apart... but if we get locked together...,
i'll smash ya throu... only way u'll cell-bar... BITCH

cell/sell
i should'nt have to explain it.....
you just not fucking with me.... EZ..