In your sleep, there you find, a daunting version of yourself

a mixed perplexity of conscience, and in need of self-help

 

But you refuse, like the stubborn little twit that you are

Saying your fine and well, but really; your anything by far

And you cry online and as your voice raises in pitch

think you're rebelling, but really; your just a little bitch

 

There is no fooling the fooler who fooled you into thinking,

Standing strongly  in the  quicksand, with you quickly sinking

 

It's not rude, its just fact, in fact, to begin with

the disrespecting of rappers in hip-hop is intrinsic

and the foul play, foul mouth mockery involved

is an art in itself, itself having quickly evolved

 

To put an end to this sidetrack

let's get back to the diss track:

 

Legitimately speaking, speaking for myself no one else

Your style and your lyrics speak remotely for themselves

It's carboned copied, made with plastic, and your pitching Mona Scott?

Why not throw it in with Iggy , where other rappers are left to rot

 

I am sick and tired of your pomposity and your tasteless crunk

not that there's anything wrong with it, yours just really stunk

So before going out of your way and telling me what for,

I'll whoop you senseless, like that! Have you running for that door!