third round, same as the second, i'm aimin' my weapons...
directly at his face, break his brain into sections...
cause painful infections, proclaiming rejection...
me winning is 'classic Common Sense', but this ain't Resurrection...
claimin' perfection, that's blasphemy, you're cursing Jesus in church...
you're not 'slayin' me if your verse gets increasingly worse...
i'm feeding my thirst, slaughter satisfies my requirements...
it's a 'bloody' massacre, smackin' guys into retirement...
should admire this, maybe 'fear' it, make your choices...
he's what 'CeeDot's talkin' 'bout', a poet makin' noises...
i'll paint your portait, fuck a brush with death...
one bar will crush his chest, lay this fat fuck to rest...
there's nothing left, one verse will bruise your consonants...
my third verse'll murder you, the first removed your confidence...
you're doomed and optionless, no way this dude is stoppin' it...
i'm abusing prominance, i'm George Bush, i nuked your continent...
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