Right outa the gate my flows-sharp like poison tipped blow-darts,
I'll pry open your throat-scar with a crow-bar hoping you choke-hard,
Fuck what the votes-are Hurricane wrote-bars that barely broke-par,
Long as Hurricane is in a "crew" then the politically correct name would be "No-Stars,"
So-far J.smith mirracle-sentences,
Define perfectly what literal-vengeance-is,
Putting opponents like Hurricane through spiritual-hemorrhages,
Damn already this kids-shocked his shits-knocked outa the piss-pot,
Fuckin reformed faggot I bet you miss-cock,
You beating me? come back "Down To Earth" like you Chris-Rock,
Hurricane a no-name-fake who wont-make-rank,
Cause there never was any flames in his pro-pane-tank,
Your whole-brain-aches with numbness,
So mentally slow your whack rhymes expose your dumbness,
Stupidly using stars an parenthesis to explain your lame-punches,
In prison terms my words like shank-lunges piercing to blood stain-stomachs,
Abdomen pain-crunches your weak back breaks-from-it,
Hurricane is likely to leave similar to the way Notre-Dame-huntches,
Your fame-plummets cause I find its easier to burn you than one calorie,
Your red, white, & blue text gets trampled over by Confederate horsemen an cavalry,
My raps do laps around you while your rhymes-barely-pivot,
J.smith is the number 1 Hurricane would be a place holding zero if compared to binary-digits,
If we battled 10 times you'd still come out short like barbershop buzzcuts of nine-hairy-midgets****

__________________
RESPECT MY GANGSTA, YOU BITCH ASS NIGGA