your poem was the shit but i was consternated
'cause your words were comin' out all constipated
first they piled out big, then they oozed out small
then they turned to numbers then they werent at all
my brain's about to stew on these ryhmes epileptic
your beats, they shock me, gonna make a narcoleptic
you got tune down the ditzy so we all cannot debate
the sick fires that you lit and the phat beats that we ate