Alias

We all know i'm better, yet u keepin' it bottled inside/
so Imma write "esteem" on my cock, so you can swallow ya pride/
reachin' deep inside and tuggin at ya vascular strands/
Speed typin with sore hands and carpal tunnel wristbands/
have the tracks from ya sig jumpin' right outta ya discman/
Get pounded with fist Fam, hit with more than you reckoned/
Im testin' in seconds, OKP freestyle constanly reppin'/
dismantle ya whole steez while ya heavin ya chest in/
Ya vision is blurred as another KO is incurred/
when you awake maybe Ric will tell ya what just occured/
My voice is preferred, and this battle is plain absurd/
Ya keystyles like MS-Office apps... Micro Soft Words!/
Ya voice lost amongst the herd, ya boyish words make me yawn/
When ya saw I was up next you shoulda simply withdrawn/
I aint wastin no more lines, cuz your conclusion is forgone/
I'll let ya check mate ya self since ya just a silly pawn/
when even birds fly around you cuz ya aint worth ish'in on!/
I'm freestyle's Despot & this free was just a rest stop/
but it retired you just like Carter but with out the S dot/



Carterboy

who i'm battlin'? alias? more like a no name/
is he the only one there is? it must of been a slow day/
lemme guess whut he go'n say:
he fucked my girl, fucked my mom, my crew is wack, an' pro'lly accuse me o' bein' gay/
yeah, i heard it all before, even used them lines myself/
dude should get 'is solid snake on, an' practice 'is stealth/
'cause guns a-blazin' wont be good for yo' health/
take you out wit' a semi, finals come an' you wont be left/
my jams is def, while you just so so/
i'm universal, while go'n be more like the rawkus label, that is, no mo'/
i'm the best there is, an' you just bad, boy/
i'm a play bully, take the tourney from you, like your last toy/
but we both got punchlines, that's how we similar, though/
i punch out, like myke tyson, while you go down, like glass joe/
i'll tell the real reason you sag clothes/ you talkin' out ya butt,
i blast those/ who think they the shyt, but really just assholes/
you pro'lly think you drop emcees, like ong-bak/
but while you study martial arts, my style is more like a gun, cocked/
with a trigger finger itch/
an' i just let off my third round, and the sounds from the blast, got you actin' a bytch/
ya voice too high pitched/ you oughtta just quit/
an' ya whole rap career, you might as well just forget/
i know you hopin' i ain't try, an' i didn't/
but i'm still comin' stronger than popeye, after some spinach/
an' you put forth ya' best effort/ tryin' to find rhymes that's clever/
but you gotta realize, you wont be a king, never/
ever/ fuck wit' me.