I'm in a league Muhammad's in
All these rappers im bombing them
Probably end up on top of them
Stomping them like Ndamukong
Competitors fall at my waist
You spit a rhyme, I spit in a rhyme's face
So name the time, place to battle
bytch I'm still in that mind state
Don't make me step on you and make you wine grapes
Cry babies, maybe my way that I use words is loose
But you fags better be careful how you choose yours
Cause feelings scar but egos bruise worse
And the truth hurts, shyt no wonder you're sore losers