Lyrics
this Little League kid, tried to Be in the Majors,
he’ll never get a hit, cuz he’s a fifth string playas,
or maybe sixth string, (string) I can’t really say,
yo because either way, we know he still ain’t in the game,
I’ll say his name, but it’ll hurt my tongue,
Because I taste of wackness, just burns it numb,
The mic that you turn on, will be coughed up,
I couldn’t find any dirt on ya, because ya washed up,
-swallow Lava, but you still ain’t hott bruh,
you jus’ go around in circle, like the top of a Copter, (Helicopter)
you wanna cop a hot flow, why even try,
we know you can’t flow when ya style is dry,
ya don’t make dough, nor do you make sense,
you makin’ aboslutly nothing , because you are spent!
Like drinkin’ Forty, you about to get smashed,
And ya lines ain’t addin’ up, jus like you suck at math,
And man you are like an empty cigarette lighter,
Because no matter what, you will never bring that fiyah,
I’ll break both of ya legs, but you’re already lame,
You could jog with “Jayceon Taylor” but you still won’t run “The Game”
A funny thang, you think you can flow when you rap,
But ya like a drunk runner, you can’t stay on the track,
You fake and you act, like you a mad rapper,
But like Justin Timberlake, you even a wack actor!
