Jesus fuckin' Chrystler, tryin' to live up to your name
Fuckin' with the beast that you can't seem to tame
Lyin' cuz the beast keeps disprovin' your claims
Cyrin' cuz the beast still showin' that you're lame
You gotta learn dawg, your rhymes can't just exist
You gotta put more into it to dethrone this lyricist
Let's cut the shit and face it, you just don't have the stuff
What it takes to win this battle, you just don't have enough
Callin' me Choda Boy? Hell naw man, you're slippin'
Who's dick you been smokin' on that's got you trippin?
Should be callin' me the Grinch, cuz you'll never touch my shit
Not with a 39 and a half foot pole
Not with your 2 and a half inch dick
You call yourself a mobster, what do you guys do for fun?
Circle up and take turns pokin' each other with the tommy gun?
Better clean that shit 'fore you go out robbin' the next day
Wouldn't want the bank teller knowin' that you're gay
But what the fuck message do you think it conveys
When you skip The Sopranos to watch Will & Grace
It's gonna take a miracle, and you're runnin' outta time
So you better start prayin' now if you hope to reply to this rhyme
|