i remember back in the days when mic sessions were all amped up/
it's like the times have changed, now it's no kinda love for em//
gettin' serious why? disses and punches takin' it to the heart/
next thing you know, the opponent gettin' ripped off and broken apart//
obviously, the metal from the mic be burning they hands/
spittin' out fire power leavin the kat shakin where he stands//
sweat glands trickle down, holdin' back, catchin' a beat down/
i love the booth, especially when the H-Phones, be blastin' the right sounds//
gettin' ignorant, recited out dome-pieces of off the top-like-ish/
lovin' the feelin' of hiphop, while rhymin' out skits//
why use profanity, when every body uses it/
placin' it in every rhyme, like nursery they repeatin' clips//
of the pointless "Textceein'-so-called-verbal-attacks/
incompetent, i rather place my lines on the hot WAX//
Feeble means wack, in case yall dont know that, now Envy with THAT/
Hiphop was a creation of different views, not with the same RAP//
the love of the music, rhymin' im tru of how the way i use it/
Now it's time fo me to leave this as the CONCLUSION//

~GoNe~