>i kick emcees like a soccor ball
>when you go in between the poles
>they say goaaal!
>
>i write my rhymes on a yellow napkin.
>and then i pretend like nothin happens.
>
>yo, i'll make you look dumb and sad
>you wish that i was your dad
>so don't get mad, get glad
>like the plastic bags
>oh, what you mad?
>you smelly like your pussy is on the rag.

really fam?...
if this is what you have,
you need not call out anyone


"i kick emcees like a soccer ball"
is that what's hot in the streets?
you must be like 12

emcees in here will end
your hopes of even looking at a pen again.

i don't even battle but
i may do it just to make a point.


***********************************

myself is sculptor of
your body’s idiom:
the musician of your wrists;
the poet who is afraid
only to mistranslate
a rhythm in your hair...
-E.E. Cummings