1-2 Punch...getcha spar going!

I'd kill this thread but when I come in I expect deception...
...and how much he sucks and won't make any professions.
(WHAT?)

hahahaha

cry why try when i bring tears it do or die
like biggy on a oversized exercise bike

and on da very same exercise bike, u tryn 2 exercise ya mind/
but wit a name like ad rem, u obviously didnt try 2 hard, cuz i noticed...ya still aint signed...

yo im spittin ryhmes thats looked up by cats and keep it close like the bible
but this dude should be on tv.....getting rejected by american idol

u claim u got flow dey call u tha word-slinga/
speakin of A.I. rejects u got voted as tha worst-singa/

now let me tell you something, but i usually dont do this
but your ryhmes stink....like u got them frsh out of a can of tuna fish

now that shit was whack, not an opinion just a fact/
now get to bed..... while ya pride is still intact/

how sad, pobracito....u think ya rhymez r any betta/
return bacc to da elementary u were expelld from, cuz in age of skill, u still a bed-wetta/

see usually i wuld do-this cuz i kno u aint gon do-shit/
only way u'd be on the block is if u was a new-kid/

Nigga calls himself da fucking sandman,
Niggas hole family is from the klut klux klan!

sub-lyrikal got a point, and got da sentence to finish/
ya dignity got slappd, word-slinga, so clean ya face, i still see a blemish...

sand man aint shit to me cuz i be da ghost
u just went down in history................
as 40 grams 1200th posts

now c'mon sinner u got betta shit to spit than dat/
next time u make a rhyme, open ya eyez, and notice...im blacc...

i notice u got nuthin 2 say, maybe cat got ya tongue/
wait, datz impossible, cuz to spit a good verse, you would have to have a mind capable of one....

This bitch saying he's black,That shit is just plain wack,
Wanna be 50 grabbing his sack, like pam anderson with a lil less stack.

fo sandman
nice stretched verse, i guess in english ya didnt pass/
maybe cuz you was to busy... kissin sub-lyrikal's ass/

and jus to let ya kno, if ya tryn 2 start a war against me, and think ya gonna own it/
i refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent...

with 2 nines and a ryhme book is my weapon
but u got nothing so get the steppin

now stizzy wanna jump on me, and say im kissn anotha nigga'z ass/
im sry to dissappoint u, but ya cant throw stones at my house when ya own home iz made of glass...

these lines come straight from the dome in a minute or less
my bullets shoot throught that vest with ryhmes that cause stress

u aint a sinner you's a saint/
if u a hip-hop artist then stop usin-paint/

Niggas tagging up om me how sad,
Guess being gay is the only time their glad,

so, da mighty word-slinga iz bacc in action, wit a rhymebook in hand/
but notice this, itz only ya memory, cuz ya skillz, ninez, and pride jus got buried in da sand...

if this cat is an macee im a murder him
he used 50's line but re-worded it

dear sinner, herez a letter of recommendation/
i recommend u look at ya self, not from a mirror, but da opinion of da nation..lemme help ya wit dat journey duration... ur garbage, and datz a lyrical proclomation

im coming hard and strong dudes is trying to prevent
bury me if u want homie cause sand aint cement

word slinga, kno diz, a real artist an emcee can re-word anythin to use whenver itz needed/
but it dont apply to u, seein in dat u are neither, sticc to ya gun-gardenin, cuz u cant shoot me, if ya ammo aint seeded....next time, load ya gun before ya cocc it, itz in da manual, dumbass...jus read it

you like one of those fusturated boxers who need a partner to spar wit
this dude is like a blind man at a shooting range..his structure is OFF-TARGET

and as a matta of fact, ill take ya advice of burial and i still choose sand over cement/
cuz im merciful like dat, so ill raise ya for a chance 2 repent....and sayn no iz a choice u'll soon resent...

As A Matter Of Fact U Aint Even Worth My Time
Cause Your Second Line Is Three Times Longer Than Your First Line

Get Your Structure Right Dog Cause Your Ryhmes Is Weak
This Dude Couldnt Be Hot If He Was Biggie At His Peak

and my point iz proven, word-length equalz ur struggle to battle me, like piccn cotton/
u already disentigratn, on da outside u hard, but inside u rottn

structure, flow and rhymez r jus rulez u attempt to follow to be successful/
but if u cant recognize an abstract technique, then ya skill iz worse than sad...itz dreadful

Yeah I Am Rottn Cause My Body Contains Sick Ryhmes
But You Couldnt Get A 10 If You Droped A Dime

keep poppn dat heat, or unless u outta fire/
cuz i can pop diz all nite long, week long, even 'til u retire...ya old job: bitch for hire..

Da Sand Man Is Just A Target I Use When I Pop
He Could Throw His Album Off The Roof And It Still Wont Drop

u misinterpret da meanin of a 10, letz start bacc from zero, one and two/
cuz ya level of elevation aint passd dat yet, and it wont be if ya cant even tie ya shoe...

Bichs all fuckin with me, what a bunch of weak enemy's,
Non of you are my homies, And non of your skills can eliminate me,

itz fuccn hilarious, dat word-slinga needz gunz to hit me, tryn 2 feed me bullets 4 lunch/
and itz obvious why, cuz with both a fist and a rhyme, he still cant seem to throw a punch...