Your rymes -Are-Forced , Faulty-Endorsed , Consider Ya Head And Ya Neck Divorced From skills Torch

I`m Givin This Cat A Charge Of Dead-Rush, Till His Vest-Thrusts, Rib Cage Crushed Ta Dust And His Heads-Plush~ This B!tch Is About As Hard As Bread-Crust With His Dress-Up And Skull Leaking Red-Rust Like Ketchup~
Your A Fraud Now Fess-Up !!!!!....It`s Just The Beginning Faggot....

The Four Pound-Will-Humble, Ground-Will-Crumble, Ya Crown-Will-Stumble~
Ya Brain Will Drown-And Fumble Around In A Blood Puddle~
Huddled With Ya Head No Where To Be Found Just To Be Suttle~(WHAT)
Be Found In A Crypt Tied Up With Ya Face Crimped And Ya Legs Clipped~
From There Cartiladge Casing And Fillet-Hips From Grenade-Scripts~
Don`t Bother Ya Played-B!tch , I Reached In Ya Heart And All That Came Out Was Aged-Sh!t~
So Face-It Ya Style Is BASIC, I`ll Hand You Ya lungs And Ya Breath...You Can Save-It~