KEVIN NASH! You tall, greasy-haired BASTARD! You think you’re some kinda big man 'cause you ran with the Kliq back in the day? Let me tell you something, Big Sexy—there ain't nothin' sexy about bein' a backstabbing, lazy-eyed, slow-walkin' piece of SHIT!

Now I been hearin' the whispers, Kevin. Yeah, that whisper—the one about the White Hot Summer of ‘92. You know what I’m talkin’ about, you son of a bitch! The hotel room. The broken mirror. The suitcase full o’ secrets. You walked outta there like your shit didn’t stink, but EVERYBODY in the locker room knew the TRUTH!

While you were playin' politics and suckin' up to Shawn Michaels, I was out there bustin' heads and benchin’ more than your whole damn clique COMBINED! I didn’t need no boy band backup, ‘cause Big Poppa Pump does his DAMAGE ALONE!

You think your seven-foot ass scares me? I’ll snap your neck like a Slim Jim and STILL have time to bang your girlfriend and her SISTER before curtain call!

So listen here, Nash—if you got the BALLS, if those roids you did back in ‘92 didn’t shrivel ‘em up into tic-tacs—then meet me in that ring. And bring your best, ‘cause when you step to the Genetic Freak, you’re not just steppin’ into a fight… YOU’RE STEPPIN’ INTO A GODDAMN MASSACRE!

Holler… IF YA HEAR ME!