I treat this - lyrical illness in a shockin way//
And I got to say Verbal J the doctor has come to operate//
Dimissin lyrical disorders with microphones//
.I’m anti-handicapped the way I murda syndrome//
I spit to win so when I flow I’m comin full force//
Dining off your track and eating you as my main course//
Fully equipped with lyrical nukes kid I’m coming through//
I could mumble my words and I’d to be out humming you//
My hits are numbing you – and you can still feel my sound//
As I pound profound rounds I got this kat on the ground//
Surround you with ‘saran’ and you still couldn’t ‘wrap’//
I’m taking out ‘runners’ the way I murda your ‘track’//
You ain’t no hurdle – you whack – you flowin jibberish shit//
When people tell you to rap kid you literally spit//
Might as well quit – cuz your “heat” ain’t shootin it hot//
You couldn’t be ‘on point’ if you stood on a dot//
Like a fisherman’s knot your bars are filled with clichés//
I diagnose you with insanity if you think you could beat J//
I make sweet plays they always run the instant replays//
.Your hot drops are rarer than the leap days//
Put down that mic cuz your garbage gets tossed//
.I got you beatin kid so just face it you lost//
I’d say your ‘boxin in fogs’ – cuz your ‘punches just mist’//
Your skillz are ‘untouchable’ cuz it just doesn’t exist!//
