Miss. Lyricist, no beef, but here we go.

14 teen yrs and U still aint grow Up/
I'll make U feel like Ur breast, debating wether or not to show Up/
My rymes enter Ur mind through a course in Ur spine and make Ur thoughts just blow Up/
Cuz I dont battle Femcee, I battle Lyricist/
so choose Ur name wisly, or I'll twist Ur head like in the exercist/
My text messages skip the phone and enter straight through Ur eyelids/
U'll wish there was a form of aspirin to stop the pain of my lyrical violence/
I'll catch U off gaurd, like this was Perl Harbor/
Fuk U till U bleed, then maybe next time U'll come harder.

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figure I could drop by and promote my my first mixtape and what not since im here..