[Oh, is that how it's gonna be? You gonna play it like that, Meow Mix? Davesprite tilts his head up, expression about as challenge accepted as a flat mouth and guarded eyes can be. He hits the post button on his device, locks and pockets it, then rises back up to proper height.]

You ever heard a bird beatbox, bro?

[Check it: chirp chirp caw, ch-ch-chirp chirp caw, caw peep chirp caw, caw, caw. He mimes the mic and the record spinning for good measure.]

Hear the bird say peep, I say drop that beat.
Got no record to scratch, but they got feet to match,
Talons deadly as swords. You say that you want more?
Maybe this cat thinks its dumb,
Says my talent's just crumbs,
Take your rest in a nest with only eggs for fun.
But I turn rhymes in snap, timed slick with wing flaps,
Leave you left in the dust with only worms and crap.
But aren't worms what birds eat?
Listen, I'm hungry for meat.
I see fools pawing for scraps, taking ease with cat naps,
Too complacent to contemplate what I got on tap.
Think you can stand up and hand it when you're the one that demands it?
Try your rhymes if you've got 'em, but I doubt I can stand it.
You're carrion, but I'll carry on, making off like a bandit.
Muzzle that muzzle! 'swhat they'll scream to that flow.
You think you're flying high when I've got you down low,
Hacking hairballs at strip malls before sad strangers' feet.
But I'm proving it now: I just can't be beat.

[He straightens here at the end, expression as even as he started. There's your challenge, bro. Can you meet it?]