Reap the thoughts of a mastermind, lyrical tech
Never knowing what mc will come next
Follow as i leave a trail of wack mcs
I was spitting this shit when Run was wearing Lees
Microphone checks gettin waxed like a candle
Foul ass language gettin thrown like gavels
Ready with a verse, come test me with a battle
You and your crew get slaughtered like cattle
Your tapes don't sell, they need some enhancing
It's all about the mic, bitch, fuck break dancing
Andre Nickatina sayin, "Give me a scratch."
Money mother fucker we ain't that far back and it's the old school

Fuck you punk(x3), cuz you still can't rap(x2)

Mcs rock, and mcs roll, but
Some turn green like fake ass gold
I hold, the mic like the hammer of Thor
Mc fakes comes and shakes a 4 o'er 5
Leave the scene dead or alive
As you running, turn around i got the "f" in your eye.(?)
Super fly sneaker as i levitate a track
Hit the club with a bud, and give the dj wax
Then im masked, mcs come, and they subtract
The real ones we conversate and chill like macs
I confess, i love to hear the weak confess
Instead of mc claim yous an mc vet
Fuck you punk(x3), cuz you still can't rap(x2)

Tongue twister twirls tell her path through a twizzler
Sally sells snow sweet n low at the Sizzler
Kill em
Look at how they piece like a puzzle
Record store cemetaries graves without shovels, youre in trouble
N***a do your skills pay the bill?
Trying to dub the killa whale, but sound like a seal
N***as know my voice, blue pen ball point
Got you counting money, got you smokin coke joints
Never cared about shit, but imma real mc
I lumnyah(?), fuck a bitch university
A professor, mother fucker yeah you know it's me
It's 6am and im playing Ice T, in the morning

6 in the morning police at my door
Fresh adidas squeaking 'cross the bathroom floor