My rhymin steez is lime disease, I kinda keeps it rugged. Your style is weak you smiling quiffe, vaginas need this fuckin. I ride the beat percussions on time with each combustion. And I could chew up Every rapper, but I don’t eat Mcmuffins. You guys are easy targets, so why compete? Retarded? I’m fire with speech, you’re dying of heat, my dialect leaves ya gutted. I’m higher than being a hundred, I’m higher than queens in London, I’m higher than even fuckin Ireland seems from Russia.…Which is basically a lateral so I’m kinda confused…My brain just seems illogical when rhyming these tunes. Cause I am the dude with the poisonous pen, writing improved, turnin boys into men. And that last part was weak and a little bit wack, so let me trash talk you geeks wearin feminine pads. I’m a grass sparkin genius when I get in the hash. So let me hashtag my penis like #GETINDATASS. I’m a rap star, I’m Venus to you lesser of planets, like I’m from Asgard the leader of the rest of these fags. I’m like a Nascar competer way I'm reppin these tracks. You need a flash smart computer just to settle my laps. I never act hard, the ruler says I’m 10 when I'm flaccid, so if your math’s smart you truly know this gentleman’s stacked. BUT NO @
Certain THIS ISN’T ABOUT ME WIENER. The flows perfect. Forget about it: Senior. I wrote verses to getcha out ya seaters, like a cold surface when ya sittin by some heaters. I live a lie, it’s secret. I’m civilized, I'm decent. I'm kidding guys, I mean it. I’m sitting by, I’m FIENDISH!! I’m spitting rhymes from deep in my little mind and weaving a million styles; you even consider trying to equal my shitty kinds you’d freeze up. Let alone the nice ones… The vet of open mic’s come to settle this. Goodnight, done.