You’re wack as fuck in small amounts
It’s bad enough you called me out to battle bruh cuz you’re a clown.
Keep acting tough by all accounts
I’ll land a punch towards your mouth so fast that once you’re falling down I’ll snatch your fucking organs out.
You challenged but you’re boring now.
Hang it up before the round has it judged with scores announced as it should. You’re always down.
You corny sounding rhyme-obsessive piece of shit,
it’s time you went and seen a shrink or tried your best to meet a chick offline that gets your weirdo schtick.
The Lime forgets you’re here existing.
Your writing never seems to hit.
its just lines of empty meaningless bull I find no sense of feeling in.
Retire already.
Deal with it.
It’s time you left ‘cause really kid
I’m the best we’ve seen at this since tried and tested leagues were in.
Act like you’ve never seen me win.
The title belt to me’s a whim.
I’m nice as hell, you’re weak as shit,
this is like asking Michael Phelps if he can swim…
You’ve been a bitch, you’re always soft,
an easy win for all involved.
You’re boring dawg, I’m past pretending,
your stories often lack direction,
you force a lot in random sentences with awful plots that have no ending.
You’re wack at best, a weekly by,
it’s sad us vets don’t need to try,
when battles set we breath a sigh then laugh as second gears applied.
For years you’ve tried to emulate your peer and write like Deadman says,
it’s really time he set you straight so you realise the mess you made.
You demonstrate why you’ll never be a heavyweight with a legacy
You’re second rate with the pen to me,
steady failing in every league I’ve decimated and lead with ease.
I’m the most decorated there’s ever been,
your generations in debt to me
two decades straight as the head to beat
and I’ve kept the same fucking energy.
