Lyrics
Ya act like a killer on tracks but this kid’s fake,
On ya old songs, nigga sound like he in sixth grade,
You spit lame, u’ll never touch kaiz,
Talkin like the devils son, when u go to church every Sunday,
You a jabroni, a chump, u know that u suck,
Check the maps, u already below me u punk,
G whiz, thing is, in this battle he spittin,
But I know bout the couple lines he’d prewritten,
Yo. I peeped that joint, “truth be told”,
And truth be told, that sound is so old, the booth’ll mold,
If u ever got the chance in a studio,
But with that voice, I think ya need some pubes to grow,
And now u tryna get ya voice all deeper and shit,
But it sounds so fake, that people think ya kid,
If people say quit, better start believin it kid,
Cuz besides ya girlfriend no ones feelin ya spits,
Yo. I’ll hurt ya son, just know ya rap sucks,
Abstrakt Prodigy? Better named 2 wack fucks!
Abstrakt Prodigy, Abstrakt Prodigy,
AP, more like take it in the Ass Probably,
Go to mass probably, look to God for grace,
Cuz when u got ya brain, it was like God on break,
Unlock ya fate, u won’t make it anywhere,
Do the verbal violence but u tough as teddy bears, (PUERTO RICO!)
Reppin there? Damn ya cool,
Except shit, u cant speak a worda spanish dude,
You got a new style, really I’m glad,
But u aint an emcee, u a Floridian fag,
U wanna get somewhere well then gimme ya hand,
Cuz till then u jus a southern spic feelin gassed,
You can’t stand next to me, I’m hotter,
Come back when u got complexity and don’t sound like a toddler.
