If i spit I wont miss, if I diss you’ll be dismissed.
God himself insists to start a draft and enlist
emcees that can draft rhymes as sick as this.
That’s why I charge for punch lines I’ve writ
Cause once spit these uppercuts give emcees face lifts.
I don’t waist rifts, the type to talk shit after you cease to exsist
You couldn’t come up with a straight line if you slit your wrists.
You could hold heat with oven mits.
I still battle babble the illest versus doing this since the tower of babel
Rhymes so sick mix tapes scared to sample.
Baffle those hating their chances of reaching this level is like a raffle.
Merciless verses directed to these worthless
Emecees thinking this is 8mile im deadly as Sars be,
For you freestyles means clothes you got from the salvation army.
And you don’t need cell reception no sprint connection
When fans scream jesus enemies look in my direction.
Slaughter mimics with no gimmicks
Ruin lifetime achievement awards in minutes
House arrest your album, promotions won’t exceed your city limits.
Most don’t want it and those that do
Either got issues or are just confused
You a bitch your cd’s found between foxy brown and lil kim
While your fans wouldn’t save your album except for recycled bins.
You get no applause, trying to floss with to many flaws
You wouldn’t conme off the top at mardi gross.
Help you meet god after a loss fuck your fam
Have you rapping together sharing a medical gause.
I get nods from hoes polishing my nob
Why they mans my fans coming after my head like a lynch mob.
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