A pinacle of pity the epythany of weak
Discust in my mind as you lay your rhymes for me
I run through you like a river built by millions of creeks
You suck like the whores that adore me I wish you'd get off your knees
And out of my sight you must have missed the last flight
Cuz you'll still waiting for service and you're looking real nervous
Well you should be faced by what you could never be
Success dressed in my Sunday best hurts your eyes to see
Blinded by my confidence your rap forevere lammer
You try to spit viscious but your words are ever tammer
All this talk of blood shead will only get you dead
to match your brains cell and the lack of truth you tell
I smell the shit your packed with every time you open your mouth
You're clinging to my lines just like a head louse
A flee on a rats ballls that lives off dead things
Has more dignity than you and what you'll ever be
Take your self off the donar's list no one wants what you've got
can't transplant to living tissue your organs be filled with rot
you're souls as black and as empty as a Lempricon's pot
You making an album is as fary tail as pushing twelves with head unit watts
Little kids pass your shit on shelves, they know what's hot and what is not

whoaaaa whoaaaaa doggy dis needs to be in open mic or battle bcuz dis like dissin somebody not a poetic script ight. it was hott tho i give props. keep elevating