Can I Kartel You

You think you're Godzilla but you're just a Gorilla, that's what happens when you've got gonorrhea, my skin colours vanilla my skills are killa and real you're run of the mill, a fail can't you tell you didn't do well, that Kartel manure smell of Kountry music don't sell, a wannabe that wants to be on X Factor in a field riding a wrecked tractor, tracks that no mind will capture, you're no rapper, a can't act actor and no rhyme writer with poor rhyming from your core the fact is you naturally bore, getting done by amateurs that means s**t for sure and below my stature, take a step back and see the big picture, there's no record label coming for your signature, you should turn around and head for the door and not turn this battle rap into a war, snore, pass out snore music, 20 years and there's still no use for it, your rhymes are insignificant your average skill's no different stop thinking you're magnificent and realise you're just a hunt. Yet you think you're good, umm missing a nail or screw let's face facts your music is poo, can you not make a beat with flow? Your music makes me sit in a seat depressed and low through ignorance your skill's seen no grow, so excuse my rant but your music is pants, professional status, you've got no clucking chance. You're so unlikely to upstage my quickly written lickety split thermonuclear lit quick wit with whatever you pick to pull out your bag of tricks because I'll make it unstick quicker than thumbs can click through your music, making videos in which you go on the phone, cliche prone, stereotype replica look at ya forever inferior, making out you've golden interior, but Postman Pat out delivers letters and is better with more under the hat you've empty space where your brain sat, writing rubbish, getting fat, one year in I'm getting published you skank like a grandad with one wish you long to be served a contract, take note of the situation you've been rhyming for a generation, and you'll never be a sensation, just a symbol of humiliation, ........ cus Rosko thinks he's the dogs bollocks, while the rest of us just think he's bollocks. That's all bossco, that's all I have to country cartel you. Over and out, they call me Sue.