[Verse 1: Wax]

Guess who’s back in the building
Big Wax with another track for the children
Believe in yourself Timmy, listen to your Mom and Dad and stuff
You can do anything if you want it bad enough
You could be an astronaut that has a lot of knowledge
Magna cum laude from the astronaut college
If you study real hard you can grab at the stars
And be the first human being that inhabited Mars
Good luck with that, I really hope you believe it
Fact of the matter is you probably won’t achieve shit
That education really paid off
Worked at the same job you hate five years and got laid off
Man, you’re in for a long life
Especially if you’re like some people I know that chose the wrong wife
As if you didn’t know you weren’t shit anyway
Now you got someone to tell you you ain’t shit everyday
You sit around, you wallow in self-pity
And if you’re a girl, you probably don’t consider yourself pretty
Cause you weren’t born lookin’ like them TV hoes
At the award shows in fancy wardrobes
In fact you can probably barely afford clothes
Too busy trying not to have your house foreclosed man
Am I the only one sick of these stars
Giving each other awards for how great they are
Fuck your speech, I rather see the mic shut off
The person who taught your kids to read just had their lights shut off
But maybe I’m just hating
The PTA awards with your very low ratings
And besides I'm a bitter old man that stays faded
Talking shit on other people because I never made it
Always dreamed that I'd make a living as a musician
But that still hasn’t come to fruition
And I ain't seeing no cheese like blind mice
Maybe I'm the one who’s blind and I really need to find Christ
Or some type of lord and savior
To combat against my self-absorbed behavior
Everyday abusing substances
Cause it makes it easier to laugh at life and how dumb it is
Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t some boozing mope
And for a musical career I ain’t losing hope
Cause I’ve been doing this shit for the longest time
Since I was a little kid writing songs and rhymes
I’ve got no choice
I flow till the end of me
And if ’09 ain’t my year maybe ‘010 will be
If neither, I'mma still spit ether
Till I’m getting chased with the cleaver
By the grim reaper
I am not a sleeper
I spit till the end
Rockin’ the mic, while rocking shit filled deep ends
And singin’ through my throat cancerous box at the show
Like ‘EVERYBODY SAY HO’
Ayo, three things define me
Consistent, different and persistent
You tell me to stop, I’m not listening
But on the other hand
Some of y’all rappers need to understand
How it is
And what talent is
And that’s why you need a Simon Cowell
Someone to tell you you’re horrible, stop rhyming now
You should branch off in a different field
Maybe get a bucket and a squeegee, player, you can wash windshields
It ain’t hard man, just try to avoid streaks
Treat your bucket with care in order to avoid leaks
When your boy speaks
Listeners crouch
And the most confident kangaroos piss in their pouch
And every rapper talking shit, they sit on their couch
And I go to their girl's house and I shit in her mouth
And she likes it, yeah, she likes it, she li-li-li-li-li likes it. Ayo she likes it, your girl likes it
When I shit in her mouth that bitch likes it
[Verse 2: Wax]

Ayo, I fucking spit in a hater's eye
And tell him I’m the best in the game like I’m Lester from ‘Skate or Die’
And Y’all poser peep flows are weak
When I speak at my shows your freaks and hoes will geek the fuck out
I make y’all seem boring
Kinda like a women’s basketball team scoring
On the lay-up
Well my flow's Jordanesque
If y'all crack, I’m more than mescaline, an important specimen, ignoring questioning
From government asking where I’m from and who I’m running with, I tell ‘em:
"We are not the same, I am a Mercurian"
I am used to the hot temperature you're seeing
I know the tasks I accomplish seem Herculean, but to Herbal T and me it’s bunny slope skiing
Getting money, nope we in
Debt with the rest of y'all
Shaky economy you should probably invest it all in this
Extra cholesterol flow now, holmes
More stable than NASDAQ and Dow Jones
Don't ask how Jones gained this ability, that’s an exercise of utility
It’s like that question if a tree falls in the woods with nobody near it, does it make a sound if no one’s there to hear it
Or what did we eat first: the charbroiled chicken leg? Or the hard-boiled chicken egg? Hmmm…
I take it way on back to when the Burlington coat factory rayon rack looked like a crayon pack
Full of them colorful shirts that we adored
The kind that Color Me Badd wore singing Mi Amor
I'mma leave you needin' more of the Alfred Simon Theodore high pitch
Metaphor, troubadour, cement floor hardness, three or four artists
Gave up rapping since the time that you started this
Sorry about your dreams, I ain't meant to kill ‘em, I don’t murder careers, I simply morning after pill ‘em. (x2)
Like that, that that-that-that uh uhu uhh
Calling out Nas