(Verse 1)

Yo, check the mic, one two, this ain't no choir practice

Little squeaky toy thinkin' he's a lyrical acrobatics

Packin' people, huh? More like packin' it in, kid

Your flow's so weak, it makes my grandpa's dentures skid!

You're a chipmunk on helium, a mouse in a blender

Your rhymes are so blurry, they need a goddamn fender

To smooth out the wreckage, the auditory disaster

You're Packgod's shadow, a pale and pathetic master

Of nothin', absolutely nothin', except for squeakin' high

While tryin' to diss, you just make grown men cry

(Chorus)

Mini-me, mini-flow, mini-everything you claim

Your voice is a weapon, but it only causes pain

To my ears, to my soul, to anyone within range

You're a tiny terror, a high-pitched, rhyming plague!

(Verse 2)

You think you're slick, you think you're smooth, a lyrical god

But your delivery's garbage, a pile of rotten sod

I can't decipher a single word, it's pure unadulterated noise

You're like a broken record, devoid of any choice

But to annoy, to irritate, to make my head explode

Your attempts at battle rap are a poorly-written ode

To failure, to ineptitude, to everything that's wrong

You're a miniature menace, where did you even belong?

(Chorus)

Mini-me, mini-flow, mini-everything you claim

Your voice is a weapon, but it only causes pain

To my ears, to my soul, to anyone within range

You're a tiny terror, a high-pitched, rhyming plague!

(Bridge)

Packgod's a legend, a beast, a lyrical titan

You're a flea on his back, a pathetic, tiny pyroman

Burning bridges with your squeak, your weak and wobbly lines

Your career's a rollercoaster, stuck on the decline!

(Chorus)

Mini-me, mini-flow, mini-everything you claim

Your voice is a weapon, but it only causes pain

To my ears, to my soul, to anyone within range

You're a tiny terror, a high-pitched, rhyming plague!