You thought you could win with that pitiful display?
Put those wings away, it’s time for the big boys to play
I say the feeling you experience is short-term horror
I’ve got deader eyes than Dora the Explorer

But sorer because my quest has no map,
I’m left searching for meaning like an ass with no lap
Like a soda bottle going flat without the cap
Like a maple tree that will never be tapped

That birdcrap you spat was at least passable
But it’s nothing compared to my own, so masterful
Your ass is full of mites, like a flea-ridden beast
Where’s that cake you talked about? I’m ready to feast

For a true rhyme warrior there can be no rest,
Put down your pens and pencils and hand in your test
Your mark is dismal, I’m afraid I’m not impressed
Come on man, you’re copying me. It’s time you confessed.