[Verse 1: Sesta]
I wrote this [?] as a battle rap
But you'll never catch me rappin' about the biblical couches, but
Here's a revelation for your patience
Catch me lover [?] and they'll be like "fuck gradin'"
Nah, I'm about to hit Mitus status
I still blew the pieces in the presence of my absence
It's simple Sesta and I say that I'll be knowin' that
We stand out like [?] stickers in a packet of clothes
My lyrics are never comin' with riddles
I [?] dribble, it's Funkoars, keepin' it simple
And, as for politics, well, fucks are given
Like trucks are driven as any [?]
To an MC who place an order
Name a girl who gives mad head well: Sketchy Hons' daughter
Ain't droppin' half a bar when I leave you mortified
'Cause your raps are so wack that you get tangled in the corners, like

[Verse 2: Trials]
I got this habit of wreckin' rappers
Takin' 'em off tracks with the force of their L carriages
Twist 'em up, you might get flipped up
And fuck suicide, you're off tryna diss us
You spit a ring to Trials though
That's like walkin' a tightrope over thin ice bro
[?] and you get stunned quick
We make shit look easy like scorin' on drunk chicks
These jumped kids gettin' severed and split
When the funk spits only speakers up will try and bump this
No joke, I provoke the dope
For even thinkin' about tryna test my flow
This fat fella cooked the flex on a rapper
Modern day sick cunt, you ain't shit
When I rip up, crews seem to be no use
Like dyslexic [?] eating alphabet soup