@Bambino,
So that means you’re the fat lady?
‘Cause you sing quite a good chord ..... for a crack baby
FYI, minimum wage is better than nothing
You probably earn less than that shredding the onions
Rhymes are out of place like immense little bunyons
On your little tiny feet, growing red in abundance
I’m a poltergeist, I dare to mess with your conscience
Plus I’m sick to death of your nonsense, go ahead with your dumbness
Rip your liver and intestines out, young’n
Then proceed to blow off Mofo’s head with a musket
Cut off his stomach, break his legs with a truncheon
And turn him into aperitifs at a luncheon
I can’t begin to imagine how you’d think I’m American, cousin
Besides, Kansas is a fairly far distance from London
So your little brother can rap? I’d like to see him flow it
He must have kicked your ass too many times for you to know it
And my last four lines, you can consider them clichés
I admit it’s a cheap way
But it’s less cheap than all of your writtens on each page
I guess we’re both on the same boat
But who has the betterest heatwave?
An intelligent chieftain or an arrogant cheapskate?
You’re uncertain of yourself, your messed-up head is a deal game
And by “deal”, I mean a gambling bet with the Queens laid
My Royal Flush has got you and White sweating on each face
You could never outmatch my hands better, so peep game
Take you apart like Moses splitting the sea waves
Attack your divisions with grievious plagues
With consequences that compel you to eject from your street way
A devastation greater than you can possibly calculate
Street wisdom and words that I compile and amalgamate
To your question, WhiteMofo, that equation you gave me to solve
67x+9<3x-12? The answer is more than your brain can hold
Sure, I’ll make your denims, Miss Sixty
Coming from your out-of-pocket expense and it’s shifty
I’m a “Muslim joke” terrorising the wits from your city
But in reality, I’m just a Christian who simply
forgives and forgets
So I’m prepared to forgive you for all that really bad spit that you bill me
And now you have a writer’s block – ****, don’t we all?
Oh, woe is me - oh, woe be gone
I got the imagination that goes beyond
Just being an autistic, lone cheap norm
To a phenomenon, a concept, an asset to the mass
An original fly guy like Dallas and Kevin Nash
“The Wrestler” Mickey Rourke has landed you on the mat
With a crossface to match and crack your bitty hands
And throw you in the pit like trash thrown in a bag
So the rats can chew holes through your mangled little ass
Yeah, Jesus Christ WAS in my mathematics class
I taught Him how to deplete little bastards like you and bamb
Break you down into fractions
Stab you through the back with a Venn diagram
And like a German, you’ll be askin’, “Venn vill zis rap be over, man?!”