CHALLENGER'S RAP

• I'd like to stuff his body in-two a smaller duffle bag, for stats, four gaps in the side, for the burial maps
• I'm planning his demise, while he spites/ me, he don't have no 9 lives, he keeps crying inside, it's grimy
• He's shoved in a place, from my saying grace, laced his shoes up, tied his hood tough, so there's no extra space
• He thought he could outwit me, he thought I'd turn my cheek and be friendly, he thought that he'd bend me
• You see the whole time, as he was writing his lines, I reached for the lime light, and grabbed it from his sight
• It was tragic, I watched his face turn pail, as he tried to bail, knowing what would happen, I just laughed at em'
• I kept saying poor emcee, poor emcee, he should have fleed from me, poor em-cee him not run from me
• I caught him by the mic, and dragged him, how I liked, and stabbed him from the side, to tell him not to write
• Those rhymes would later have no meaning, and later, somebody would read them, and get discouraged from a demon
• Though he called himself "the best" I knew it was lies, to keep him from spies, who would watch all his lines
• He's dead, I mean... he died, he was laying in that duffle bag, for stats, with four gaps in the sides, for burial maps