It's been awhile...

It's like that balla boss, strike that, call the dogs/
Sting Shakeet, flingin' heat, I fight back with Molotovs/
Cooked and tossed on the butcher's block, man, you're dead meat/
Red letters embedded in the center of your head piece/
Tangled in the bed sheets, I'm the smooth revivalist/
The "Soul Scientist" should just give up this whole rhymin' stint/
Time to quit, my main man, your lame hands can't grip a mic/
Your eyes like dinner plates as I incinerate you, little tyke