PEOPLE ON THIS WHACK ASS BOARD #2

You give props to slop shit not to be dropped on microphones
I anoint your crews with points of views like what’s wrong
With yall domes, the rhymes plain coming from your ascinine brain
Even Frankenstein remain stiff on yall monster flow no kind of fame
It’s a season for truth no reasons or proof for your stupidity lame
Even P Diddy claim yall fucks can’t make a band with your fake plans
Yall flows are do-do, clothes not FUBU even Ghost Face knows
Yall not true like the WU crew cash rules while I smash fools and hoes
Can’t go groove, show or prove what Hip Hop is about can’t rip shop
On route with a chain saw yall plain flaw in the game tie a slip knot
Hang yourself not hardcore or deft when you write why yall trip a lot?
Yall bitches don’t jell like doctor scholls can’t write proper scrolls
Sloppier that tootsie rolls in a baby’s mouth from a crazy house old
With a leaky roof ate wrong food now got a squeaky tooth need
Dentist by the variety yall fucks a menace to society no creed