Tell me what you think of this. It's not finished.


Now I don't mind people of your kind.
But when I find that you try, to mess in my bussiness
And impress the rest with your lyrical nonscense.
Yes, this is directed toward you, when you've affected my attitude,
I will digest you like food, to better my bad mood.
Sad move by you, sprayin' other peoples shit,
Lyrical counterfit, words and thoughts,
Straight from a hip-hop CD that you bought.
Your talk has become so lame, actin' like the streets is your game.
Here's how we aren't the same. I ain't going to portray or say
That I know the ghetto, or have even been there for a day.
If I may, I'm just a white fuck, tryin' out my rhymin' luck.
Your rap sounds like a chicken's cluck.
Looks like you forgot to duck, when it's raining outside and lighting struck.