| Yeah
|
| J-dean
|
| 6 times for ya
|
| What the fuck you want from me dawg?
|
| Want me to compliment your chain?
|
| And notice how you’re stuntin' when you’re skating on them thangs?
|
| And notice how you’re stuntin' when you’re hoppin' out the range?
|
| And use that shitty style where every rhyme and words the same
|
| I’m sicker then you suckers off of half a line of 'caine
|
| I’m here to chain your body to the tracks to guide the train
|
| To do away with all that girly rap inside your brain
|
| You rapping for the chickens like you’re only out for change
|
| I’m bound to get a coke out of the machine without the change
|
| And break you like a fifty-dollar bill without the change
|
| I kept the pattern simple so it’s seepin' in your brain
|
| But my pattern’s like the weather if you peep it, it’ll change
|
| I am fucked
|
| Swam the English Channel in handcuffs
|
| And rode the Orient express with both of my hands up
|
| This ain’t about whoever ain’t bussin', but whose missing
|
| So I pack a butcher knife to stick into you stool pigeons
|
| You claim you murder me, with some caliber tool spitting
|
| And I hate to have to show you which one of us fools kidding
|
| I throw you off the balcony screamin' out «Good Riddance»
|
| Ripping average masterpieces, you come in with good written
|
| Huh!
|
| Like that
|
| Like this
|
| Joe Good
|
| One time
|
| Ces Cru
|
| Reach in the house
|
| Yeah, it’s like this, check it out
|
| I don’t rock mics for shiny links or brand new minks
|
| I’m trying to entertain your home girl to buy me a drink
|
| What you think —
|
| Cause I’m rapping, I happen to have funds?
|
| I just quit my job, I happen to have none
|
| Zip, zero, stingy with dinero
|
| Can’t light your wrist, cause I ain’t got shit
|
| Two pockets with a lot of lint, that about it ma
|
| Yo, you really gotta buy my disc
|
| Because I spent up my last two bucks to get here
|
| And if you know the gas price, you know I’m sincere
|
| Pump the brakes, you got facts to face
|
| If you think I got to sleep with you to crash at your place
|
| I ain’t a gigolo, slow when I give it, that be that nigga joe
|
| Soon as you can slow my mission, I hit the road
|
| A new city for my plots to bub
|
| Set up shop
|
| Drop the buzz, and get pocket love
|
| Yes reach
|
| Nice rumble on the track
|
| Mic wonder on the rap
|
| Loud like thunder when it clap
|
| I want you to react like you wanna get attacked
|
| Confront you in the back, and I’mma punch you in your trap
|
| Got you thinking I’m a big brother that jumped you in the frat
|
| A macho man, Slam a brother flush into a mat
|
| Brazen like the soldiers when they rushed into Iraq
|
| Chop your legs, chop your arms, Like I’m coming with an axe
|
| My company stands back
|
| While you beggin' to get your man on
|
| But don’t care to believe that you’re paraplegic, no leg to stand on
|
| Get a chair, you need it to sit
|
| We so retarded
|
| Ces shitting, you only farted
|
| Webo, guarded the beats
|
| Squads treated with no regard
|
| Feastin'
|
| We clean the bone of the meat
|
| And then gnaw to sharpen our teeth
|
| Radar’s blippin' the skipper got a lock on your fleet
|
| Chalk it as beef, and explore the consequence
|
| My styles stiffer
|
| I switch it to vowels when I’m bored with consonants
|
| Got your bowels knotted up, shopping for more incontinence
|
| Kicking the door, cussin'
|
| Countin' on your incompetence
|
| Slayed in a swarm and blame it on poor reconnaissance
|
| Since we take 'em to war like raidin' the foreign continents
|
| Born of dominance
|
| American Joe Anonymous
|
| My cold esophagus spits snow and its polar opposite
|
| Showing off is shit
|
| Hip-Hop can get so monotonous
|
| Overthrow control and blow holes in the oval offices
|
| Chokin' off your oxygen flow, no hope of stoppin'
|
| I don’t profit off of vocals, although I’m a vocal prophet
|
| I snatch a ride like kiddo then piss in an open socket
|
| You can get to know a lot from the kiss of the cobra
|
| Over and out |