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comfy as fuck on the hip hop throne
girlgun on my lap,
floatingslow is on the phone
his rap carcass deboned,
lacks definition and tone
calls from another time zone,
bullshit broken metronome
yip yip yapper,
his mouth's a rap crapper
tries to dress his rhymes dapper,
like fish sticks to red snapper
amid strains of defeat
he rises up like bloated meat
my rap killin's indiscreet
never put the weights on his feet
a septic example for all the pretenders
that flood this battle with bullshit never-enders
it's not hard to be the king
my words unfold like the Rapture
pretenders to the throne
cry and weep when I capture
little baby bitches
living in delusional prefectures
all your rhymes fall flat
mine have intricate texture
In the midst of these attacks
I remain the mad chillable
my fertile brain's soil
is ever more tillable
floatingslowly's compost
is truly disposable
and if usurpers got beef
they'll find they're quite roastable
when they're placed in rap's prison
I'll be hip hop's constable
the smell in your cell
makes your meal up-chuckable
your rhymes are the vomit
that is undoubtable
so clean up yr mess
and finally confess
your defeat and distress
maybe take a recess
for if you're Al Capone
I am Elliot Ness
while you figure out checkers
I grandmaster in chess
OH!
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