no need for calling out names but im about to killy ou birds with 1 stone...


you aint shit why go agenist ya paps
ever since i left ya moms i've been hearing you complain non-stop
must want the nine to pop and leave ya liver on the ground like rotten meat
look at ya hoe clocking me, bust'in nuts on ya black shirt and make her rock the tee
i cock back and start pop'in 3 like larry bird in hes prime
you ez im hard... why you think you can verse mines?
i curse ya mind and smash ya... watch... like i broke hes time
you bogus and i notice it aint skill's but traffic tickets only time u was FINE
your flow below simple, i'll X you out like im closeing the window
im holding ya bimbo you called moms and whoreing the nypho
blood pour throu ya dimples, im flooring ya temple
ignoring the signal an have T.V worst murder going to present you
you cant go for my title, im hunt'ing my rival
so ya next sad poem link i'll say still UN-TITLED
my lyrics is vidal im rip'ing ya spinal
better hope the spirit behind you, or the morge is where u'll visit u'r kind to....MOTHER FUCKAH....
YOU CANT FUCK WITH ME...
WHAT IT DO??
DO WHAT YA DO BUT STAY OUTTA MY FUCKING WAY....