I was born on the seventh day with seven mics on my right hand/
And seven colour coded cables and seven elastic mic stands/
then I knew by age seven I would be on my way to be called a rhyme legend/
with rhyme partens/ and dope add'ins/
the only f-emcee to be known as a rhyme tyrant/
Stangle whack Mc's with their own digs for battling/
I got seven ways to slaughter and eleven styles of riddlings/
E's cos like E, i do with ease/
easily break you down, Im the mic disease/
Im so ill i should be named Mis deceased/
Not that 7-Sense doesn't fit me, its cool/
but my lunch time is gone now I gotta go back to school//
seven mics dont make you have seven lives/
killing you literally is idea on my seven minds/
why are you here are you done with your shit/
we all know you give out to guys just only for a lift/
being a bicth pays i can see it in your eyes/
they say you even cal yourself " the sex spice"/
too bad your embryo expired so no children/
heard your choice of rounds is seven/
your mom comlained about your bitchness since you became eleven/
stupid bitch i pop you till your pussy is into pieces/
you damaged you even feard by a horse/
bitch outta here cmon, out