So what do you want from me, you want a ton from me?
You ain't getting none from me. Stop with the pleasantries, peasant please you gotta pay the apparent fees.
If you don't you'll get stung by rampant bees just like the rhymes I identify, the marks I leave on you will solidify, don't bother tryna nullify me you can't run-if-I chase you.
What'll happen to your suit-if-I drop these lyrical napalms on your glory? Things'll get gory so rub some lotion on your payin' palms although I doubt that's gonna protect you.
Notice how my mouth affects you. As the British say: "Flipping eck!" I'll slit your neck. Me and rhymes where does that point intersect? Right here while I'm crushing this little tiny insect.