With quickness, I react like litmus
and bloom like an hibiscus when on the mic,
'bout to rip this.
No blood on my shirt, that's lipstick
cus me and females go together like
My Aunt Jemimah and Bisquick.
So feel the pain and know that
these words can burst your veins and capillaries.
And feel the shame and go back
to grade school to learn vocabulary.
You're the kind of shit I have to bury,
any fame you've got's imaginary.
You bundle up in Summertime and
I makes it hot in January.
As for competition,
there isn't much of a selection
cus most cats these days
are disappointing like elections.
It's lonely at the top, you see?
I just can't make a deep connection.
And if I ever feel like battling,
I've got to spit at my reflection.

Hahaha! Who's gonna post that hundredth?