Writer #4: Diss Track

The only reason that I’m writin’ this rhyme,
Is to show you fools that this comp is mine

You may use fancy words to show off your smarts,
Yet two of you fools wrote about poopin’ and farts

Did you turn yours in late Mr. Postcrastinated?
Youd’ve been better off sayin a puppy ate it

You’re fleein’ to Saturn but can still feel my burn,
Your stories were weaker than workouts with fern

We got one more prose talkin’ bout what we fear,
Which I plan to plow through you like that Uber to deer

You got the first W, Like Father, Like Son,
With a PhD in being One and DONE

Hermes and Ma want to know if you sew,
But I’ll chew you up and spit you out like a mango

I got sick pythons, you know a doctor or vet?
Forget it I’m done here without breakin’ a sweat

[mic drop]


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