[Verse 1: Maffew Ragazino]
Every time he go, he go in like he on Stretch & Bobbito
Circa 93' flow
This rap shit is but a free throw, well ease how I paint portraits, no easel
The word play so lethal as cold as Andre with a Kanye ego
I'm the antidote, even your mama knows
But common sense ain't common amongst common folks
Food for thought, main entrée
But they want microwaveable shit with paper plates
No cosign, no payola, all that shit is fake luv, Angel Lola
And Shawty is cute, I ain't trying to diss
I mean she give me the pussy I prolly hit
Frankie Cutlass wasn't lying about the politics
It's all bullshit, vote republican
Donkey or elephant, I'll tighten my belt before I sell out for my relevance
And fame and money and all those other perks that come with it

[Chorus: Maffew Ragazino]
But I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five
And I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five
And I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five
Right

[Verse 2: Maffew Ragazino]
What would have happened if Aaliyah would have flew alone?
Or if Makavelli (Machiavelli) really truly had a clone?
Or if Big Poppa would have stayed his ass at home?
How far could that coast rivalry really gone?
Hypnotize Remix with 2pac on it
Pardon my idle mind, I know I'm really zoning
Whenever you in Rome, they say do as the the Romans
But the industries roam and I'm doing my own shit
Stepping on toes along the way
Like fuck it I meant it, you ain't gotta pardon me
Like I'm Forte, seekin' refuge
We want our reparations but they refuse
Over your head ain't it?
I'm just putting a little paint where it ain't at
Walking the plank damn it with the waters that are sharks infested
I stand the test of time every single time that I'm tested
An empty bottle of cognac with a message
Inside of it, some of y'all'll get it, but
It's obvious that a lot of ylall prolly won't
[Chorus: Maffew Ragazino (Jon Connor)]
But I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five
And I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five
And I still do this shit (I got this one, n***a)
Like it's one-nine-nine-five (The People's Rapper, yeah)
(It's Jon Connor, aight, yo)

[Verse 3: Jon Connor]
This shit is gorgeous, I kill it, I'm morbid
The flow is wet, I spit it, it's pouring
You n***as absorb it, the flow is dope
As Cuban imported, I'm coke when recording
Yes this is straight raw, and you spitting that Norbit
Whether they, shoot it or snort it, I send they brain into orbit
How could a flow this sick be just the doctor ordered
Look, before I sell out, I bail out and Dave Chapelle out
In Africa with Naydee and Seedie speakin swahili
And if it's nineteen-ninety-five then let me get it back
And rip it spit like 2Pac was gon' diss me if this shit was whack
Like I'm a bad boy like Martin, Willie and Biggie
And Diddy in the back, Mariah on the hook in a Yankee fitted hat
Where my n***as at? Fake n***as better play dead
Ain't Peter Parker but I run shit like I had 8 legs, I'm Forrest Gump-in you
Lieutenant Dan and you got fake legs, and look
They can't keep up cause they feet stuck, put your teeth up when
When I beast up, n***a, what, what, what, what
[Chorus: Maffew Ragazino]
And I still do this shit
Like it's one-nine-nine-five