V1
It takes a punk motherfucker to brag, but go figure/
Flow nigga? I’m leaving your bitch with more just 3 holes in her/
Stuff woodchips into your corpse and torture you with a soul splinter/
Blowing over you into the net, like you was a 4 foot goaltender/
Hold ya pen up, I’ll swipe it off with your hand attached, Imagine that/
Your faggot ass is the poster girl for Vagistat/
You’re braggin that you defeated me with a battle rap in a hear me chat/
Stop riding my dick…gimme the fuckin saddle back/
Fast to react, I’m certain to, FACT/
The only pat on the back you ever got was when mommy was burping you/
I burn shit up, give your father a nervous hug/
This shit is just like TLC at dinner the way that I serve this scrub/
My words are much more elaborate than a Persian rug/
Cause I’m more of a novel writer than the author of “To Sir With Love”/
I twirl a thug impostor into pasta/
You got the look, but you aint worth a fuckin word like a speech from Laetitia Casta/
This’ll cost ya much more than a loss, I want your life force/
Tonight, you’re going down for sure, bitch, like a dyke whore/
These high purity viruses, I fight off/
Cause I’m dousing the chronic plague with industrial Lysol/
Twice as raw, cause I pen a sonnet a day/
Richard Simmons told me this commie kronic plague was atomically gay/
In the most astonishing way, I be taking the the fast route/
Battling me, You’re like a frog in a bathhouse, ass out/
I’m reversing the last doubt, that I can smoke you in a conflict/
Amputating your arms so I can poke you in the armpit/
With the sharpest of objects/
You should take immodium AD, because you need to stop that soft shit/
Im encoding the proper topics to cover/
Even started a non-for-profit organization to kill you under/
I chop prison’s in half, and split cells/
Bitch you rhyme like Ricky Martin just stuck his dick in your shit-well/
I wish to dispel, any notion you spit well/
Strap zarbon to a car bomb, spark the engine and excel/
I watched your head swell from your sweetest moment/
With Glamour Shots with an airbrushed t-shirt saying ‘I Beat Tonedeff’ on it/
I deliver the type of flow components that zone in/
Attaching to the weakest host, and then slowly drone till your brain’s imploding/
Controlling your mind to expose you in public/
Cause yo, my style is like a hooker with herpes – Not to be fucked with/
Don’t even attempt to blush, bitch, or even take a stand/
Got you shook, like the Pope and Mohammed Ali shaking hands/
This is the way I land, with minimization/
I am iller than all the kids in the make a wish foundation/
So, fuck a braggin bastard with a massive passion/
Your girl said you come up short with your rhyme schemes and just how fast you’ve lasted/
You bite more than a scrappy mastiff/
I drafted a pack of stationary reading ‘Plague’s a Pussy’ on the masthead/
I’m giving the medical field a new reason to research/
Making your head chatter enough to make your fucking teeth hurt/
Revert and I will come and find you/
Bitch, I will even produce the beat you’ll be saying you battle rhymes to/
A lyrical gift that shines true to blind you/
I would go back and obliterate your atoms if I had the time to/
Everything you’re spitting I strike a line through, like it’s connect the dots/
Fuck a last line. I wrecked your spot.
What.
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