bserve the definition of this debate's Proposition; X = Y + erroneous addition,
I’m gon’ slip ‘gainst the burden of proof as I evolve and transition,
See a G like me come murder your truth slow ‘n’ elegant; war of attrition,
Where’s the evidence? Where’s the precedence? You whining son of a pun; mother in the kitchen bitchin’,
And the thing about your shaft, is that just like the President, It’s a trumpet in the mirror but on camera, small and delicate,
I cuck you for the hell of it, fuck your crush with this humongous, cumbersome, trunk of an elephant,
So what’s the size you peddlin’, tell me son why do you never win? You sometimes tied against me but you’re forgettin’ the peckin’ order; this here’s the better, clever King!
Yeah, oh baby I’m just started, shittin’ on this tiny wanker-shafted, retard kid,
Did I say shittin’? Well that lack precision; this wannabe competitor is lickin’ what I sharted,
Burden of proof numero Uno; your manhood needs to be sizzling. It is isn’t and that alone could be a quick win,
Yet your hole gets deeper the more I stick my thick dick in.
You got no manhood either, where’s your proof you possess it? OH LORD, the resolution says the hullabulla wanker shaft gotta come forth and profess it…
So since his ‘wanker shaft’ can’t speak, oh wait let’s just go and tweak the BoP in this debate before I go repeat:
You see you set your own defeat; if your got some sizzling meat, all the manhood’s got burnt-out, old news dysfunctional and weak,
And the thing I think is neat is even if all that was more neat and resolution held up in the ways I just rapped along to a beat,
He still couldn’t debate anything more than a non-victorious pipsqueak since the brobdingnagian would apply to the ‘yours’ as well, meaning mine’s sized up to out-meat the elite.
You did well RM, but you haven't heard the last of my brobdingnagian hot spicy boner pants.
oops made a few grammatical errors, but my manhood enjoyed the pumping
I heard the word on the street's that they call this 'annihilation'.