Draw for the ting in the Tesco bag / Make your white T-shirt look like a Japanese flag

So I get home to find Hattie Collins is sending for me:

'"Come on Hattie C, we want war-bars war-bars/ You're a war mc, we want war-bars." Please Prancey, shut ya mouth/ Cos my similes will give you scars/ I've got metaphors that'll make you gasp like you've got SARS/ My punch-lines are gonna hit you so hard you'll be seeing stars/ At the end of the day, kid, I'm Jay Z and you're clearly Nas.'

I ain't having it, as they say.

I slewed Chantelle, now I'll merk Hattie.
Your bars are shit - you're talking out of your batty.
My blog's KRISSS, your blog's tatty.
Your pum pum smells like a salt-fish patty.

I draw for my skeng, you draw your pension.
You keep pissing yourself – got a problem with water retention?
Your zimmerframe's fucked – dodgy suspension?
The steam powered dildo is your favourite invention.

Hattie Collins: up in the air.
The whole of RWD mag: up in the air.
In this game, you've come far.
But when you touch mic, you get A.I.R.

You're gonna need the whole of the RWD office writing bars tomorrow if you're gonna even nearly merk me.