| Yea
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| (Die Slow) 2x
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| Fuck ya’ll
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| (Die Slow) 2x
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| Die Slow nigga
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| (Die Slow)
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| (Canibus)
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| Yo You against me. |
| No contest
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| My tongue hydraulics
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| Strong enough to flip a 64 impala with 3 adult passengers
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| and a 4 hundred pound driver
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| And drown you in less than an ounce of your own saliva
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| Rubberface rappers get, stretched like elastic
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| Claymation characters wit verbal vernacular
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| Slappin’ya, like a white water rafter
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| Or a Olympic kayaker, paddlin’across the Niagara
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| My afterburners’ll be burnin’you after
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| Ya’body already been splashed with acid
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| And you turn to ashes
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| Assassins camouflauged in the grass blastin'
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| Leavin’blood all over ya’lady like Jackie O’Nassis
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| I’ll fly ya’body outta Dallas
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| Perform plastic surgery while we airborne and switch caskets
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| Then lie to the masses
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| I’ll tell’em that you got murdered over some East West beef, between rappers
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| Radio stations’ll express they sadness
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| Play classics back to back and pass out Stop The Violence pamphlets
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| Just imagine, every night ya’girls fuckin’ya’best friend
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| While you in hell throwin’tantrums
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| I’ll be lampin’in a mansion somewhere out in the Hamptons
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| Givin’some pretty ass bitch a spankin'
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| Nigga you can’t win
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| I’m laughin’cause you a has been
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| You’ll never get ya’groove back
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| So don’t even bother askin', Angela Bassett
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| You’ll just get ya’ass kicked
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| Get ya’head chopped off and dropped in a basket
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| My left arms taken but my right ones free
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| That means I could diss another muthafuckin’emcee
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| Wit rhymes that appear clearer than liquid crystal
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| My lyrical is more visual than television screen pixels
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| I fire pistols, hit you wit’minature missles
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| Riddle ya’body wit’holes then watch the blood sprinkle
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| Ya probably had no idea what you was gettin’into
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| On the mic, Can-I-Bus is invincible
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| Fuck you
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| (CONVO 1)
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| (Die Slow through out the convo)
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| Hey Yo that nigga got an attitude
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| Yeah he be actin rude
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| And he’s always trynna’battle you
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| That last album was terrible
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| When he’s on the radio he never got a clean mouth
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| Yeah everytime he freestyles, his words be gettin’bleeped out
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| You got the album?
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| Naw I heard it was weak
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| You got the album?
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| I said it was weak
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| But the shit don’t come out till next week
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| Hey Yo I like the nigga’s beats
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| Yo that shit be comin’bugged out
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| Hey Yo that nigga Bis dumbs out
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| He waited too long to come out…
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| (Journalist)
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| To you bitch niggas who talk alot
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| But walk the block, in halter tops
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| Left side of ya chest, mark the spot
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| That’s where a nigga put it, when i’m hooded
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| Then fill you up wit big bullets
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| Prepare you for some channel 6 footage
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| Know what is, Me and Bis, runnin’through ya courtyard
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| Creepin’wit a four-five and reachin for ya door knob
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| Throw a gun under ya chin, see how quick your whore rise
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| One shot could have a short slide, right out the North side
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| Your whole flow is porkrine
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| Spit the small oints
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| I’m nasty, but my small joints grip the bar point
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| Drop on top of the blue line. |
| right beside the red one
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| Keep the flow fairsome, 'till the day my career done
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| Bring it to ya ass if you the challengin type
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| Especially those, surroundin’the mic
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| Sound of the light
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| To the Journ, ya’ll ain’t no suitable spitters
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| True to you niggas
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| Lay you out on MD’s, recoupin’ya liver
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| Shoutin’my name,
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| Ya best to control the noise soldier boy
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| Or homicide will be all over you poys with Polaroids
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| (CONVO 2)
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| (Die Slow through out the convo)
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| Yea, yo that nigga Journalist gets busy yo I heard he’s from Philly yo I seen him in Bis video
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| He’s so skinny tho'
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| Now he’s rollin’wit Canibus?
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| I don’t even understand his shit
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| That nigga sounds like an amaetur
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| Yo i heard Jay manage him
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| Yo he got some heavy gold shit
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| Man, that’s some old shit
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| Yea yo the niggas that he roll wit’probably let 'em hold it He got alotta Benji’s — no he don’t!
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| Everytime I see him in the back of The Source, he look dingy! |