[bleak]

I'm an outbreak, a plague. Spreadin and you're suited to die, bitch.
If Macbooks a battle against me, I'll prove he's not immune to a virus.
On RIA, I read your verses. The last half are trash, you shout the wrong lines.
The way you ran out of steam, it broke the clocks at the scouting combine.
This beach bum would get smacked on the streets of hip hop.
I father flunkies and Pac Sun in a bag, without a receipt or flip flops.
My zombies pourin out the sewers. Eatn brains, and bored of what son said.
in the 10th round, Mac's ammo couldn't help against the horde of the undead
To the real Mac, you're nothing. Cause you don't land in spars.
Immaculate is at least twice the writer, and 8-10 times the man you are.