Lookin' for some feedback on this piece:



You couldn’t roll with my crew if your shoes was wheels
’Cause I roll top down in a mad whack, hand it back, Tan/Black Cadillac Coupe Deville
And I'll shoot to kill, my rhymes skills is ill
I’ll leave you on floor, nine mills‘ll kill
I speak a lil’ Brazil and the word of the Christ
Don’t you think I’ll hesitate to fuckin’ murder you twice
Cheeseburgers and rice, bitch, you can call me Obie if you scurred (scared) of the Trice
Prepurr (prepare) to be ice, cold, when I leave you in a pool of blood
’Cause I come up with hotter rhymes, that’ll burst water lines, and cause the school to flood
Whos and whats, when, where and why
That’s the W5, bitch prepare to die
‘Cause it’s a fact that you better, bring gats and Berettas
Boy, you walk around the party like you tryin’ to find ass
But you couldn’t find your dick with a magnifying glass
I've had it up to here, I’m fuckin' sick of this rage
I’ll rip your Face Off like you Nicholas Cage
Constricting a page, I got a record deal
You spit like a beginner, I got extra skill
You best believe the fuckin’ pain is real
When you staring down the barrel of my stainless steel
I’m trained to kill, if you step to me
I’ll murder you with lyrical weaponry
And have you so shook that you pissing your pants
When I come up here with fuckin’ disses and rants, man
I’m sicker than backhands, to strippers who lap dance
Fuck scissors, you can call me Edward Gat-Hands
I’ll murder you backwards, like I’m Ripper the Jack, man
I ain't no gansta but I rep the street
Don't even grab the mic, just accept defeat