Poetry

Striking the Juniors

Hahaha, come on guys.

You think that was wise?

Bringing you your demise.

Anyone could have advised,

You do not dis, but you'd customize,

Every bit, now I've left you all with cries.

Poetess was the 1st to die!

But TriStrikejr still tries,

To grab my crown, my prize.

Haven't you all seen my size?

Shawn, Nikita, Paige, more than 1 guest.

But I'll put you all to the test.

All of you disses on me were pressed,

But I'm not actually impressed.

I can compare you all to an annoying pest,

But your all try hard, and I ain't giving my best!

This boys over here like bang bang bang bang bang bang.

That's not music, that's not even a thang thang thang thang thang!

You said you'd show us but you just got hit with a boomerang.

Stop it, you not Lil Yatchy or Gucci Gang.

I'm dropping bars as hard as concrete.

I don't need advice from you writers in the backseat.

You already know I got you all beat.

Readers like that's no way way to treat,

People, but they all hated me first,

So I'm just treating them equal, cuase there the worst.

Came at me with a stupid dis.

Swung hard but y'all freaking missed.

Now y'all got me pist.

Tell me, how does it feel to get hit by my pen and fist.

Y'all ubsessed with the little fame,

That I'm "taking" so I'm the one you blame.

Don't think your cool based off your freakin wierd name!

Pretty lame.

And you now I'm taking about you Nikita Mr wanna be 8mile,

Watching you try hard is making me smile.

At 1st you had a pretty decent style,

But now your too white, bet you your real names Kyle.

And now I'm free styling in this booth,

Cuase your lying so much you broke a tooth.

And we both know ive always spoke the truth.

Line you up with the fakes, y'all part of their photo shot.

My problem isn't with the dis, but thinking you're actually good.

You all have more fans than you should,

I have more than you ever could.

Like you ever would!

But this idiot thinks she's a queen,

You're living in a freakin dream.

Beautiful is a crap poem.

I'm sending you all home.

You look like a freakin worm with braids.

Sorry if you can't take my truthful grenades.

This is the real world not the playground.

You either sit down, or get put down.

Syndrome telling me bars cold, thanks for the credit.

Disses have been giving me a headache.

Let me paint the picture potrait,

None of you are even important.

Sofisticated