| I dictate while most MC’s lactate
|
| Can’t wait for me to smack brakes and fuck em till my sack breaks
|
| They stand still with a little bit of spittle
|
| Drippin off the middle of they lips tryin to light a cigarette
|
| And I’mma watch em all choke on my vomit
|
| Took apart, shook up they heart, they died on it
|
| And I promise, if you could hide from this monster
|
| You’d quit tryin to ride on my divide and conquer
|
| Some gotta die 'fore the dumb realize
|
| Not everyone can fly, most don’t have wings
|
| Keep takin a nap, wear a brick for a cap
|
| Or get the fuck off the lap before you lose everything
|
| I spit shrapnel while the villagers babble
|
| Slice deep, pull, peel, and let the skin unravel
|
| We’re here to scrape off a layer of your make-up
|
| So we can see what a bitch is really made of
|
| I step off in your hoola-hoop cypher with my eyes all aglow
|
| Walkin tall enough to make your half moon whole
|
| You don’t need to get duct-taped to the bathroom flo'
|
| Cause I don’t think your shit is flavor — but the rats do, though
|
| You and your little bitch buddies think you’re Thelma and Louise
|
| Cause you got a drum machine and you throw jealous to the breeze
|
| You need to respect a fuckin legend when he breathes
|
| 'fore you get a K-Swiss logo embedded in your knees
|
| Shock the body-body, rock the consciousness
|
| Stagger the imagination, box your esophagus
|
| The paradigm, you step past the line
|
| And I’ll show you why the masterminds have got a fuckin axe to grind
|
| Street magician like David Blaine with these songs
|
| Crip-walkin through your mental corridor with metal cleats on
|
| Slug got the weed smoke, Ant got the beats broke
|
| And your fuckin eyebrows might grow back, but your teeth won’t
|
| (You gonna look pretty funny tryin' to eat corn on a cob with no fuckin' teeth) |