Alright, so I think I figured it out
Your a per-pubecent wanabe punk
Cause I know you didn't see that and and think it was luck
Those rhymes, so weak, so meek, let me teach ya' how to speak
Call me master craftsman cause I gave birth to Icarus,
You still trying to figure out how to spell liquorice?
Boy, rap is the game of the gods,
you should kneel down like the rest of the pawns
Cause I'm on a higher level,
I could out-rhyme the devel,
Outshine any metal,
Go whine than revel
That your still not in hell,
cause no matter how much you rebel,
You'll forever be a shell,
Of what you were before I banished your soul to a rap induced depression
Equitable to US's slaves Oppression,
But don't expect an emancipation proclamation,
Cause your spirit will have eternal lacerations,
Face it kid, you just can't beat me!
I'd say go sit in front of the TV,
But your mind still won't escape me,
I think you need some therapy.
Don't worry kid, I know a guy,
He's pro on askin why your family left when ya were still just a small fry,
Just don't lie,
And we can get to the bottom of this endless abyss,
Which cuts deeper than any diss, and can only be filled by the family you miss,
I'd say its not your fault, but I'd be lying by default,
So I guess I'll sit here some more,
And humor you before directing you towards the front door.
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