let stop and think about tha situation, no time for virtual hatin, we all here creatin, but puff you aint about shit, with yo kindergarten spits, i'll rip you indecently, like i was a blood and you was a crip, dont get me wrong, i shall never ever slip, but instead pop in tha internet clip, and then light up a spliff at the accomplishment, that you now decease, bloody body, decomposing, brains layin at my feet, now i aint no type of cleaner, but best believe i can use this streetsweeper, take away ya legs, put you in a permanent sleeper, eternal slumber, you start to wonder, about my words, comin down on ya main membrane like thunder, so i punder, whether to burn ya body, so that the police cant charge me, with murder, dont stutter, settin at ya chair, in front of tha monitor, do i care? hell no you can die and straight burn in eternal flames, all because ya raps were lame, its a shame to kill you off so bad, no hard feelings, sincerely, YOUR DAD.