[Intro: Proof]
The best thing that ever happened to me was to be a man and take my son Nasaan to his first damn school
It made me feel like I was (*Mumbling*)
I could be as hard as I wanted to be but I was trying not to cry
Got in the car and broke out crying
That's one of the best things, I feel like I broke a cycle in my life
Whereas black men in the community don't be there to take care of their kids

[Chorus x2: Fatt Father & Proof]
You fucking with them boys that just don't stop
Y'all got guns on your waistline but still won't pop
My n***as don't waste time, we run on your block
This ain't the run of the mil, bitch we top notch

[Verse 1: Fatt Father]
As rеal as it gets, my skill is legit
I pillage with spit and lеave entire villages sick
My pen is a gift from God with no limits to hit
I'm winning against the odds, I could dribble a brick
No [?] soul fold, chitterling shit
I'm old school, Mr. Dress Up, finna get licked
Pendulum fist, adrenaline riff, diminish them quick
Racket'll get you served like it's Wimbledon sent
I'm back in the bag, sizzling, conditioning of mind
To build a legacy and leave something decent behind
You pop off, we pop off, ain't nowhere to hide
Your bars are like cars, nobody will care to drive
A rust bucket that said "Untouched since '95"
You bust nothing but be online, hoping to shine
I'm come fronting and checking you n***as more design
It's I, the former father: Fatts, you out of time
[Chorus x2: Fatt Father & Proof]
You fucking with them boys that just don't stop
Y'all got guns on your waistline but still won't pop
My n***as don't waste time, we run on your block
This ain't the run of the mil, bitch we top notch

[Verse 2: Proof]
Since the days of Sugar Hill I could've killed at least a mil
Young emcees with no skills and no deal
But I chilled and I let y'all rap
Shit the game is all mine, I bet y'all that
Mash point black slugs at your baseball cap
Sampled your flavour, didn't taste all that
P ace all tracks
Show up at your session and erase y'all DATs, to your face y'all whack!
D12 my pack, my pack is D12
In detail I'm Castro, Fidel
Direct as Email, straighter than Magellan
"Proof ain't shit" Yo the haters keep yelling
Fictional poets with the major label clearances
Hold a emcee nuts for guest star appearances
Off a fraction of pills I fracture your grills
Rappers with skills becoming actors with deals, shit
I burn your script up and rip up the roof
Plead to the judge, he only asked for the Proof
[Chorus x2: Fatt Father & Proof]
You fucking with them boys that just don't stop
Y'all got guns on your waistline but still won't pop
My n***as don't waste time, we run on your block
This ain't the run of the mil, bitch we top notch

[Verse 3: Fatt Father]
You fucking with them boys who's poised to bring drama
I hold lot of toys and noise to [breathe commas?]
This here is supreme honour, Proof and King Father
When real n***as connect, rejects they feel bothered
Tough as the new coward, coward's will disagree
The world needed a G so God comissioned me
Shabazz the missing piece at odds with anybody believing anyone could rumble with Gods
I do a wonderful job of being great
A rider with a mean face
Could never rattle a cage of a lion that breathe apes
You talk but only do what your Momma would deem safe
I show up in muddy shoes to run a clean race
Leaving the scene taped, no if, ands
You better off taking a long walk through quicksand
You think you a big man until someone pull your car
Then leave you buried underneath they yard, bitch n***a!