You can keep roasting me (I don't care)
You look like your dad has dipped ya (in uranium)
You can't roast me you lil bitch or the hand will snitch.
You can't even rap
But I can go Rap-tap-tap on yo ass
You rhymes ain't got style
What are you? A 5-year old child?
Bologna isn't pronounced like that
I'd take your hat. And run fast.
I'm not sure if you rap like a pro
Or you rap like a bungalow
Yo rhymes ain't got style
Mine got it. You can't get me to die.
I'm not even a porn addict
You can be roasting at it
You waste yo time typing on a goddamn keyboard
You ain't have sense of style.
I'mma kill ya.
I still have the chestplate and leggings
You look like a furry that got dipped in uranium and somehow survived Chernobyl.
You rhymes got no sense of style.
You can't get my loot if you can't kill me
You are what I see. (Worthless piece of shit)