Tad Winslow’s got ryhme heat
Like bringing a gun to stab street
No one can compete
when what I say is complete
I’ll have your girl between my sheets
makin her bleat like a sheep when I skeet skeet skeet

In this contest
I’ve been directly blessed
by godliness
while you’re just obsessed
with being the oddest
You’re a party that’s entirely a rod-fest
pathetic and pissed
you’re worth less than a pawn in chess.