| I warm it up like Kane in his prime | 
| Fuck with us, you insane in the mind | 
| You cowards way out of line | 
| Money talk, boy you wastin' my time | 
| You don’t want to put the work in | 
| You just want a taste of the shine | 
| Real talk, so it’s hard to trust | 
| I’m in it for the long ride, like I drive a charter bus | 
| Scars and blood, from the deadly bars I bust | 
| In Czar we trust, the army buy they bombs off us | 
| Blog about it naysayer, you can hardly doubt it | 
| Who’s the best? | 
| Who’s the worst? | 
| We could argue hours | 
| Runnin' through soldier field, I’m Jordan Howard | 
| Nowadays they respect money more than power | 
| Money, power, respect, we all want some | 
| I ain’t waitin', I needed it, one lump sum | 
| Made men trade hands with young guns | 
| They stopped manufacturin' the cloth that I’m cut from | 
| I be laughin' at the beef as though I’m body-shamin' exes | 
| Only time you set-trip is when you binge on Netflix | 
| Reckless, run it up like, «Eso, listen please | 
| Alright I like the beat except the snare, kick and keys» | 
| Geez, I teach but I kill them when the class on | 
| So I got no pupils like Spidey with the mask on | 
| Generally speaking, each rhyme is five star | 
| Split personality, I ride with a side car | 
| I can’t think of the rhyme, it must be misplaced | 
| It’s on the tip of my tongue like Stan Smith’s face | 
| Hold on — hmm, something 'bout a fly sound | 
| And how you got no bars like a dry town, so pipe down | 
| The beat bumps like bad skin | 
| «Captain gonna teach stuff», shout to Kraglin that’s the line, yo | 
| Let the mind take you where the cameras can’t | 
| It’s very necessary like a Q-Tip Grammy rant | 
| (DOOM was imminent) | 
| Due to jet lag, good afternoon or is that night? | 
| Militants speak proper, some airheads said he act white | 
| Catch flight, bread good so he tends to pack light | 
| Got jokes, but usually don’t engage in no snap fight | 
| Could be considered a waste confrontin' snakes on the back bite | 
| Detrimental to culture that they lack sight, ass-wipe | 
| Catch him on stage, mad hype, with a trashed mic | 
| Month later, in the gutter, glass pipe and a flashlight | 
| Lookin' 'round for something, he still scurry | 
| Bewilder, incite riots, the mind’s gone blurry | 
| There wasn’t really shit to say, much to they chagrin or dismay | 
| The licks had 'em on the ropes, then he made a big mistake and hit the hay | 
| Went home and hit the day | 
| Burn the midnight oil and freak the shit a different way | 
| Disaster, time is a component | 
| Settin' fire to rappers in a monumental moment | 
| And the game’s potent, it’s like a never-ending «ient | 
| A minute ago it was smiles and hugs, now where the fuck the dough went? | 
| He so bent it’s like he set the shit straight again | 
| Bombs fittin' to drop and he ain’t even close to sayin' when | 
| (V-V-Villain) Nothin' ever stolen | 
| Was given as a blessin', think the Universe owe him | 
| Got faith in the vessel but know when to keep rowin' | 
| Yeah and get up out your own way when deliverin' a poem | 
| Those who think they do, don’t know him | 
| No different than a squad of birds ready to blow him | 
| Sorry Charlie, get back up on your Harley | 
| Win, lose or draw, plus beat you at Atari | 
| Drop they ass deep in some far-off Safari | 
| And prob’ly even got the answer to, «Who the hell are we?» | 
| Metal Face squad drone, tell the real ones, «Shalom» | 
| In a calm tone, bomb thrown |