[Capcom "continue" sound scratched]
Ten! Nine! Eight!
Seven! Six! Five! Four!
Three! Two! ONE!!
Get ready fighters - it's showtime!
Hi Timothy, it's your boy I-Dee
Part time emcee, super disc jockey
This ain't grind time, but b*tch, it's Oz
And I'mma make you mine... just because
Motherf*ckin I-Dee, I'mma call your Isaac
My flow too tight, just like how my eyes get
Put this on my Facebook, no I didn't like it
And we are not friends, so hop up offa my di*k
The first one was written, dude what are you spittin?
You don't even know you just spit about chains and glisten
Battle rap attack, I'm six foot four, you're short
I suggest you use Gary Coleman's corpse for leg support
Playboy hat but you get no play
How I'm f*ckin hoes, you f*ckin Jose
Goofy-ass f*ck, you need to be slapped
You know you can't rap and your beats be whack
I can't believe my eyes
Here we go again, everyone look at Traphik
Constantly wishing his di*k was big as a Vlasic
Pickle... dude here's a nickel
Quick, what else rhymes with nickel? sh*t
You got no rhythm and you always look drunk
Tall as f*ck but yo' ass can't dunk
I f*cked yo' b*tch, you better call Maury
And he popped a blood vessel on his di*k - true story!
Yeah I f*cked up, dude you suck
I'm just gonna go generic and say WHAT WHAT!
Like the N.O.R.E. song - you like a c*cker spaniel
I'mma leave you dead like Pearl comma, Daniel
I'mma kill your mom, and throw her in a lake
Your name is I-Dee cause you always be fake
Yo' ass cain't dress, you need to cut your hair
Turntable champ, cool - no one cares!