DISS TO JOHN DOUGH

JOHN DOUGH I come fast and keen and like gasoline
I power motors while you drive and cowers in Toyotas seen
You wreck in a rich community you itch for an opportunity
To rap someday wait for you to come say “teach me I’m puny
At rap no hood life I fool folks at school I’m a joke get kicked
Can’t wear rocca wear it’s on the block everywhere it’s slick
So SQAW my words advanced but nerds don’t dance got a bic
In my pants the Ink may spill think it kills the fibers paints my dick”
JOHN DOUGH you ride my dick have the pride of a trick
You couldn’t pull a chick with a rope attached too quick
To brag just a sick fag that chase dick, thinking you great
When you just a stinking fake your flow is a fart which create
No part in the rap art, this lame claim to be street like he
Some kind of scarface on a bazaar pace to takeover with three
Rhymes, you couldn’t (NEW) jack a city if you was Wesley Snipes
Or Ice Tea on Law and Order you face a raw slaughter of all types
he’s blind like Ray Charles was can’t see a damn thing got no hype
You dumb retard you couldn’t come hard if you stood in a freezer
Just a damn good skeezer boy silly with no ability a damn dick teaser
All my rhymes are like matured wines will cure minds like yours
Get a glass and get your ass drunk off this funk chump my metaphors
Bores through doors leave holes in floors so bow down clown like whores
Rhymes played out like fairy tales just airy trail of a wanna be but
You gonna see me advance to a higher level while you remain a slut
When it comes to rhymes I collect clusters just to correct busters like
You I wear earplugs so I don’t hear scrubs like you a damn rusty dyke
This bitch whack and lame even with a highjack plane he couldn’t blow up
Inside the world trade center, box cutter bitch everything you know is corrupt
look bitch I’m doing lame damage to your truck because you campaign
is managed by daffy duck so quack quack you’re a whack act in the rap game
not very bright you follow me to every site and bite my rhyme so why blame
me for your short comings all sort of gay rumbling is tumbling in your head
trying to make friends I don’t like fake trends you lie a lot try be hot with a dead
Style, you couldn’t spit ill with garlic on your breath, one rhyme a week you
Ascinine freak I’m forgotten more rhyme than you can remember I speak true
Just a rich kid hid behind a dream while I rhyme extreme my lines steam like
Boiling crabs and bitch you crawling no vocab in your script look you write
Simple trash like a pimple on an ass it should be squeezed and removed