| I’m your worst nightmare, I spit the shit you’re dreaming of | 
| Dope as intravenous drugs flooding River Phoenix' blood | 
| Building from the ground up 'til I’m in the suite above | 
| Buzzed, twisting greener bud than Wiz Khalifa does | 
| See I ain’t rhyming 'bout the diamond rings and flashy cars | 
| Finer things than caviar, I just bring it as we are | 
| And it got me thinking that the bar’s been raised to mount position | 
| With the weight and pounds I’m lifting barely makes an ounce of difference | 
| Still fans play it loud, they say I make 'em proud to listen | 
| They use it to escape like tunnels breaking out of prison | 
| And they relate 'cause life’s a bitch who knows her way around my kitchen | 
| But wouldn’t give me cake with flour and baking powder mixed in | 
| Bank account’s deficient, withdrew and overdraft | 
| Can’t afford to see the sky go from blue to overcast | 
| So I use emotion as fuel, and spew explosive gas | 
| Like a supernova blast coming through your phonograph | 
| I choose to go a path that don’t meet the status quo | 
| Chose to be an average-Joe, earn my keep and stack some dough | 
| I chose to speak the truth 'cause the people had to know | 
| And they told me go to Hell with the demons trapped below | 
| They said Hip-Hop was dead, they confirmed it as deceased | 
| 'Til I reached out the casket through the dirt and grabbed their feet | 
| So I could pull them underground, where verses smash the beat | 
| And every person that meet is vermin turning savage beast | 
| My work’s a masterpiece, think not it’s all the same | 
| At least I’ve gotten all the chains from here to shopping malls in Maine | 
| Watching y’all drop the ball from atop the Hall of Fame | 
| Then just stop and call the game like these drops of falling rain | 
| Yo it’s not my fault the pain’s too much for angels on your shoulder | 
| And their inner demons represent my name up on a poster | 
| Sean came a long way, now he’s way beyond the culture | 
| An abomination spawned from the greatest song composers | 
| I’ll napalm your soldiers, I’ll spray a loaded Glock | 
| I’m not like these people, I embrace the culture shock | 
| I’ll celebrate the day my foes are laid below to rot | 
| And chase Patron with shots of Jack straight and smoke some pot | 
| Got the same approach with cops 'til they raid the local spots | 
| Or invade my home with SWAT and snipers aim from over top | 
| That’s not cool anymore, they say the game is going Pop | 
| Rap about playing beer pong with a case of Rolling Rock | 
| I’m like fuck that, to me it’ll always be the golden age | 
| Skills matter and ill rappers like me control the stage | 
| Releasing flows and waves leaving people so amazed | 
| They bend over backwards, their calf muscles reach their shoulder blades | 
| From beneath the overpaid, where it’s not commercialized | 
| 'Bolic drops the certified fire, watch him burn alive | 
| I will lock it worldwide, Hip-Hop will turn the tides | 
| And whoever fucking doubted me, y’all are first to die |