2-double-Oh-seven offering: Battle Rhymin'

In 0h-seven hip hop groups just make me wanna puke.
They get shook and juked like Devin Hester did to Duke
And to the Cards, Giants, Vikings, Rams
I get around like inside-the-park Grand Slams
I ams what I am but that aint all I’m gonna be.
A rugged MC, I’m not a fuckin’ wannabe
Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon B?
Phony rappers talkin’ shit but could they poop on me?
Hypothetically, pathetic MCs could slander me
Underhandedly pandering to heads meandering
But that’d bring a reprimanding that is very damaging
To the ego. He said I was weak but what do he know?
His main ho was kinda shaky like Janet Reno
I used to hit the green, now I lean and sip Pinot
And crap upon rappers like full can of Beano
On a taco or a burrito, I catch wreck like Benito
Santiago, I lead yo, and never follow.
Your rhyme flow sucks. Your mother swallows.