Some Punchlines

Don’t have a college plan and born in garbage can your
Rhymes are trash and lines don’t thrash paper I ignore
Simplicity no electricity and your publicity make a wig sore
I have the streets clench while you have a weak bench
You can’t win games with the score of a whore or wench
You a toad went down a road bent ended up in the wrong place
Home a disgrace so clean it up and your girl got on lace
Your name don’t ring a bell your bling fell on the ground
Pick it up you a sick duck, whack and you smoke crack clown
Not strong and deft belong on a shelf like old books
Your pages dusty and rusty nothing left got your goals shook
Don’t know the fate of this creature not one great feature
A ballistic hoe savage with statistics below average not a teacher
In rap your slow wisdom is all criticism with no rhythm
You sick and unstable like bad picnic tables your legs
About to fall off your clout is all soft bitch should beg
Me not to rip him your script dim and lips trimmed
In chapstick look I rap sick and stay hipped above the rim

Upping For A Response

upping for a response

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