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Ey yo,
ain't feel like doin' this...I was gone no show but fuck it,
Ey yo,
Res put heat to ya chest, make it pop yo with a raw flow,
I'll have ya heart throb, just like a young Rob Lowe.
Fuck ya streak, I'll wreck an' end ya, with text to injure,
'Cause once you lose, you'll pop out the Top like a pez dispenser.
I'ma righteous charmer, so step to me an' I'ma strike an' harm ya,
I read ya verse, that shit's bigger garb than Goliath's armor.
WAckness is what you harbor kid, you ain't even start to win,
Your ass would just give up 1st like the Chargers did.
Plus, ya market value's nada, you're just an herb entertainer,
This faggot couldn't juice up the Bonds if he was his personal trainer.
But hey, don't blame me either, you suck, an' I aint' crazy niether,
It's just, your inner child's an ugly gothic kid who paints his fingers.
So yo,
My lines reach an' eat this, wack bitch who dashes, in a scramble,
Since them skills Constitute wack, an' that shitty verse is just the Pre-amble.
Pz.
__________________
I Still Win.
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