The advantage appears to belong to me,
'Cause now you're complaining 'bout my persistency.
Running out of ideas? Need a good rest?
No worries, go for it. I'll still be the best.


You think you just started to say nasty things?
Ha, that's not true, just more lies, Waffle King.
You don't even play by the proper rules,
so that's why you think it's okay to be cruel.


Your mean stuff is bad, but as a man, I can take it.
But you're immature, I'm surprised you don't ragequit.
It seems that you're tiring out pretty fast,
so we'll see whose rhymes end up standing last.


Because of your claims of which many are phony,
I have no problem at all saying that they're bologna.
Pretending you're better does not change the facts,
Exceptional skill is where your poetry lacks.


I could tell you I'm better and go on and on,
but you'd use the same comebacks when you respond.
None of them are good, by the way,
They're all just as bad as the first poem you made.


If this is a tennis game we're participants of,
It's like I keep scoring, and you're still at Love.
I'm like the famous Roger Federer,
and you're like a noob, a failing competitor.


You can't win, you can't even return,
you lose track of the ball as it flies by in a blur.
Since all your plays are way out of wack,
I got this thing won-- game, set, and match.