Yo Rubs, hows this strike you, you've finally met your match/
As I dispatch my rap craft got you graspin' for the escape hatch/
In fact, it's turned your penned prose into unreadable cat scratch/
You'd feel the hit of this mad draft even if you called for a fair catch/
To be exact the impact of this brash track leave you way beneath me/
You can't even rate as a pussy you more like what a queef be/
And believe me, I'll rock you with bad beats that leave you weaving/
And seething while I perceive you peeved that you're underachieving/
For days you'll be reeling and feeling you can't deal with this rap dealing/
But meanwhile revealing your self-confidence needs some faith healing/
And I know this essay causes disarray and 'Rubs' you the wrong way/
But your celebrity and credibility are short lived like you friends with OJ/
Or maybe you'll get pissed and then dismissed like your name was O'shea/
Playin' with pocket rockets in the closet, 'feelin yourself' like you were Mac Dre/
The King don't sway, keep swingin' away while you spit simple shit to our dismay/
Hold on while I break………………………………now go on with your weak display/