you write like a retard, so I should call you Timmy when you´re rappin/
your rhymes are overboard but when I sail I´m the captain/
dismantlin emcees who build up hype and never flow, like the O/
din´ u know I´ll cut you off and stunt you so lyrically you won´t grow/
son, your rhymes are juvenile like you were going back to puberty/
you could make me laugh, but even then you couldn´t humour me/
I eat emcees like you as snacks, I´m frying bigger fish/
you´re like a skidmark, cos son, I couldn´t give a shit!/
you need some stronger punches, you can´t hurt me with your write/
but I take it to your chest and give you asthma on the mic/
have you wheezing threats and reasoning and begging to be released/
I´ll consume you in the flesh: enter the belly of the beast/
O should go confess and ask for blessings of mercy/
pray to God: "when TK drops, Lord, don´t let him hurt me"/
cower behind a shower of bits, bytes and internetting/
cos if I see you in the flesh my fist´ll be connecting/
I´ll dislocate your jaws and all four of your limb sockets/
and you won´t walk until Spacely´s making them "Space Sprockets"/
so you´d better Jet-Son, and come correct son/
cos next time on the net I´ll disconnect your neck son!/
