medieval diss track

my mill grinds, pepper and spice
You’re mill grinds, rats and mice
My hand picks, only what grows

Your hand picks, only your nose
My grain tastes, delightful
Your grain tastes, very frightful
My mother cooks, with much care,
Your mother cooks, with her hair
My wife smells, of pure honey
Your wife smells, of bad money
My fields are, happy to see
Your fields are, sad to decree
My hat fits, like a fiddle
Your hat fits, like it’s little
My king is, smart and wise
Your king is, full of lies
My sheep will, keep us alive
Your sheep will, fail to arrive