You want this battle, huh?

So you're a rapper now.

Here we go again.

Prepare to meet your end.

Just let you up on Facebook.

You have zero friends.

This kid's a loser.

Yo, he ain't even kissed a girl.

You write a love letter.

I buy her ice and pearls.

So how you like me now?

Even Roxanne's in the background saying, wow, bling's got style.

I'm off the gold chain.

If you're a rapper, why is Chris your backup dancer?

Like an extra.

I'm so trained.

I see your mommy and your daddy in that front row.

They must be embarrassed for you, bro.

You're not a real emcee.

You should quit hip -hop.

Now be a good busboy and go get your mom.

Bling, you don't want to battle.

You're the snake without the rattle.

You're the boat without the paddle.

You're the duck without the waddle.

You're the horse without the saddle.

The ranch without the cattle.

The day without the shadow.

Son, I think you should skedaddle.

Kick gravel.

Sayonara, punk.

What language do I have to say it in for you to hear me clearly?

Adios, amigo.

You're over with finito.

This clown couldn't rap anything but my booyah.

Kid, you have to hold your mommy's hand before you cross the street.

You have to sneak out the house just to clean and sweep.

And now you look queasy.

I made him go mute.

Put your camera phones up so you can post this on YouTube.

Truth's got to screw loose.

He's terrified to bust.

So lightweight that I can blow him over with a gust.

You're weak like seven days.

You deserve booze.

You should walk around in some high -heeled shoes.

You should rock pigtails and a skirt.

You're shaking in your boots.

Are your feelings getting hurt?

Ooh, well, maybe I should hurt more than your feelings.

Maybe I should rip the roof off the dead ceiling.

Maybe you should start kneeling.

His eyes are getting misty.

You're so whack.

If you were me, you couldn't diss me.

Kissy, kissy, Roxanne.

Did you miss me?

I'll take you out to dinner after I've eaten this pipsqueak.

And when we're on vacation, I'll let him house -sit.

Here's a couple bucks.

Buy yourself a better outfit.

You know what?

You don't have a stack of cash or a flashy pad.

I saw you last week driving a taxi cab.

Your secret's out.

And now they know, sport.

We'll call you if we need a ride to an airport.

In fact, you can drop me off at home after this.

Then you can take your couple bucks back.

But as a tip, you're playing yourself like solitaire.

Telling everyone that's here that you're a millionaire.

You're not a baller.

You're a phony.

I bet your whole crew is a bunch of rent -a -homies.

And now you lie in bed lonely.

Your persona's a facade.

The only girls you get are in the pages of a catalog.

Here stands Lord of the Bluff.

His lies were legendary till the truth made him hush.

And what's funny is your truth is enough.

Why'd you have to make up all the money and the stuff?

I guess it's easier to play the role and act hard.

Cause you don't have the guts to tell us who you really are.

So you can keep a trophy that you don't deserve.

I might be a busboy, but you just got served.