Maddus
Hasson
GraveDigga
Datruth101
Sykotiq
Venom
Hellgun
Rabbit
All bitches 's present and accounted for,Now listen up grab your dress and make up packets before you walk out that door,consecutivly down Stewert/Cleveland make my money that funny,Ya'll all lyrical hoes that want rumy.Maddus likes to have his hole surfed he's even down for DP,Hasson got that good tongue and head work,and GraveDigga that boy there likes to be teabaged,make him an offer he'll never miss a chance,Datruth he of the chain with it,he likes to be gangbaged,Sykotiq and Venom they love taking cum shots in the and in the mouth,on they face get excited cause thats they favorite place,Hellgun and Rabbit they love to take fuckin each other for the entertainment of others.Now all these go for the top price cause they making my money.
Lyricist from the A
Lyricist from the SOUTH

Whoa what more can I say
I told you youngin grown men dont play
but you insist to stay on my nutts
stay watchin gay porn like seeing men gettin fucked
you have a serious problem dude you are sick
but you messin with the wrong one gettin yuh ass kicked
I deaded you before but you keep sayin my name
you aint winning cause this aint no game
dude to kill you Ill kill us both
and you like the New Roy Jones you's a joke
Im a tell youlike this you dont have a craft
yo rhymes are like Chris Rock they make me laugh

YOU back again wanting to test the lyrical demon,well I'm here and you screamin.And the last I checked you were ridin my nuts cause I killed your boy venom,you a grown man dog that's hilarious,you just a girl that's mad at me,frantically coming at me with weak rhymes cause you can't be me.Lyrically I'm blessed,cursed even ther are hip hop warrents out for me leaving sucker mecees lying in the streets bleeding.nigga you needed iv's to regenerate your soul cause you barely breathing,holla back at me when you can lyrically see me.

Lyricist from the A
Lyricist from the SOUTH

Stop hidin lets do this shit.Niggas want to talk shit then disappear,like the jordan fade-a-way,I'm coming with lyrical scriptures for a maylay,ya'll couldn't beat me on worst and last day.so stop hiding and take this ass whuppin,come on now everybody rush now start pushin.quit being bitches and spit your verse,as a matter of I'll restart and go first, snatch in your purse,ya'll worse than that eminem wannabe Fred Durst,strip you down, dress you up and put you in a black hurst,and what hurts your moms worst she told not to screw with the spiritual lyrical demon,you didn't wanna listen now you not breathing,and with that being the case holla at me when you get some nuts sweetheart,I'm right her leanin


Lyricist from the A
Lyricist from the SOUTH

TeddiBee - ya ain’t no lyrical demon, just shut the fuck up and stop your ween’n.
Yeah! – that’s right you ween’n fool, your lyrics are dry – go back to school.
Go back – right back to the very first grade, and even at that level, you’ll no doubt fade.
Fade away into the dust, damn die you demon your lyrics are crust.

Lyrically your all fucked up, try’n to get nasty - just to make the cut.

The only warrant that’s out on you – is a warrant for your arrest for missing the cue.
The cue to rhyme, to keep in time, your are lyric’s cheap ain’t worth a dime.
So now your charged with this heinous crime - of failing to make your lyrics rhyme.

Now do your time TeddiBee, retire your shit and set us free.
Free from suffering – from all your ruffling, which according to reality is totally muffling.
Free from the bits – of your psychotic shits - your jive about fags - your flavourite dicks.

Wow, now it’s time to log-off bitch, to permanently to stop this annoying stitch.
The stitch from laughing – yeah you’re the joke.
Your about as hip-hop as the pope.

Now get the fuck outta here you ‘lyrical wanna be’ – now that’s ironic it rhymes with TeddiBee!
Well there ya go ol TeddiBee – a motto that’s deserving of ye.
But first ya gotta learn how to 1-2-3, and of coarse - you’re A,B,C.

NOW FUCK OFF!

TeddiBee, more like Teddy Bear I see your concerned with what the boys wear. Telling them all to put on a dress – where your minds at ain’t hard to guess.

It seems to me – you have an issue - shouting out fag when the fag is-you.

The evidence is clear and in your cry – talking shit and thinking your fly.
You ain’t fly your fly-shit, you can’t rhyme with your hand on a fat dick.

You think your clever I say –WHATEVER!!
Trying-to-make-the-cut, YOU’LL NEVER!!

I see you have a stutter - like no other, must be your complex around, a brother.

The evidence is clear and plain to see, you got off on Santa’s knee.
And when Santa said just choose a sock – you said ‘no I’ll have a reindeers cock.

A lyricist from the A (A-Hole)
A lyricist from the SOUTH
Now who’s the one with cum in his mouth…

BUSTED BITCH!

Ha, ha good one.