Battle 1

It's time for me to end your "reign,"

Any more of your rhymes would maim my brain,

My game is freeing captives from the same lame names

With rhyme frames that make the wisest mind flame vain,

What a shame you're to blame for the shift in the weather vane.

It used to be the better mayne that won the fame and fortune

And tamed the sport, now I'm supporting any dork

With a name that's not yours.

And poor you, I see the sweat seeping through your pores.

No, there's no way to save your rapport,

You're too boring and the whole crowd is snoring,

I'm soaring with rhymes that are roaring,

While you mourn your deforming fate.

This ain't a warning, I'm storming the gate.

You're not worth another word, else I'd call you "whore,"

But you can call me "Great".