My Rhymes

I got the skills that kills.
I am the best in the game.
If you don't believe me ask your momma,
She'll tell you the same.

Now I don't mean to call you lame,
but if you were a lighter I bet you wouldn't spark a flame.
Cause you ain't got no fire.
You know you're the kind,
that easily gets tired

From now on,
I change your name
From what ever you are now,
to the one without game.
There I said it you're lame.

If some one asked you
who's your mother
and who's that hooker down the lane.
You'd answer: "what they ain't the same"

Cause yo mama,
She's been touch,
and I think a bit to much.
Everyone knows her
Cause she got such a good offer.


Every night in the same spot.
Selling her body so she can buy pot.
Now, she's ugly as hell,
but she's got lot's of pleasure to sell.

And now to conclude
she claims she does it just so you can have some food.
So have some pity
When ever she goes out in skirts that are itty bitty.

Your Mother: