Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire
Killah Tofu
[Verse 1: Danny Brown]

Kush in the Swisher got a n***a lightheaded
Heart beating fast, somebody call the paramedics
My credit licking guts so everything is copacetic
Your poems is polyester and your stanzas synthetic
So give me my credit, I got my own lettuce
These n***as want handouts, at these record labels beggin'
I walk up in your studio, say "Fuck the atmosphere
Your beat's wack and your engineer have no ear"
Your fucking up the church's money, my rhymes like verse Sunday
So get the wine out and let's count this money
The variation of my patterns is Saturn
Through rhythmic conversation I tell you n***as what matters
The ceremony master, your style is a bastard
Turn n***as Casper, put your jersey in the rafters

[Verse 2: Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire]

Fuck a job, I can't pass the drug test
So much stuff in my system, pissin', I could make the cup melt
Fuck death, what comes with success?
A bunch of scumbag motherfuckers and some bitches with cum breath
Rap pussies: they don't breathe, they queef
That's word, the opus mag
Them fringe benefits will have a n***a on the edge
Paranoid, paranoid, everybody's out to get me
Could work, you pay half and grow old, or I could be Biggie
Biggie, pump your brakes like Mieneke
Holland bitches sucking my dick while I sip, Heineken
The Adderall is like a star on Mario: multicolored glow
I could gong the gongshow
Boss like, n***as perpetrate that they ain't this
Just bow down to a n***a and kiss my fist
I gives a fuck like a glory hole
Been ill since I wrote my first rhyme in '99 with the N.O.R.E. flow
Same thoughts as back then, I'm just weaker now
The more I think about my past, I push it deeper down
Inhale, exhale, life is like Braille
It ain't about what you can see, it's more about what you can feel