The Death Warning *DISS RAP*

I got a gut feelin' a homie sucking off my cash roots.
Taking my ride, my record deals, honey like, honey where the roof?
The fool even taking my roof tiles.
I'm going to send him a warning, picture files.
And they goin' to be the fuckin' targets.
Make Smith think, Pinda a beast, a sergeant.
You shouldn't have written a diss, it should have been a apology.
Your life will be silent, death unheard.
Who's Smith, he a fuckin' mythology.
Never existed, he was never alive.
Long live Pinda, the king to thrive.
All these years in the studio, and you've just been takin'.
Consider yourself exposed like a picture, butt naked.
You goin' to be public enemy number one, get used to the hating.
No more youtube posts on your account, no more fans rating.
I'm Jim Balent, define the word talent, shine at every balent.
That's the reality of it, it's the pure truth.
I run you over twice in once session of the booth.
Sweet metaphors, got your grand kids loosing their tooth.
You got no rhymes, no songs, no nothing and that's the proof.
That you're just a pest in my nest and you was my minor test.
To get rid of fucking cocksuckers out of my life.
Rumors say, you even tried fuckin' my wife.
But that's a rumor, if it was a fact, then you would be dead.
With a million dollar hit man fine, stuck on your head.
Isn't it funny how, I reached the top and you leeched on me.
With one flick you just drop, trying to the holy father to preach on me.
You said I smoked to much, and spoke to much.
Martin had a dream, Bob got high.
Still I can do both, buy my lunch and get by.
For nearly twenty years, you've been in my ear talkin' shit.
Now I've had enough and am goin' to quit.
Consider yourself dead, buried in a blood infested pit.