Tell the producer to use the clap board
They walkin’ into the trap door
Most of ’em act like rap lords
At least they got the attitude and confidence
But I have one task fo’ put this con in rest
I’ll get your ass floored, one task, one lasts
Little punk ass, you’re standin’ against the task force
I don’t give a fuck, like people who cum fast
Punch back, actin’ scumbag, with a fake attitude
You must have, cut class, your mind is stuck in
A padded room, I damage crews
I have a conduct disorder, my dad had it too
Would you see him as a responsible father?
If I would kill a beat for a couple of dollars, adding whoops
Would I be accepted in a catholic school
If I would be fucking a doctor, cause she was
Refusing me of fucking her daughter
Is it funny now? It’s pretty funny cause
I’m tired of rappers who ain’t flowing, their flow is water
Free, we call it running mouths, here goes another, see
Another emcee with mean personality
What you mean you adding me, we having beef
I know you hear you mamis scream, stuck in the basement
Forget about pronunciation, as long as you live with
Your momma, don’t matter affiliations, been months since you’ve paid rent
Don’t even know if you’ve paid it
Hip-Hop is the princess, I’m the young prince who save it
Your tongue spins, might think we’re related
Idiots win, but don’t know how they made it
Is this too complex for you?
Never seen no apartments? One rule, I never lose
If you ever knew, I’m rippin’ apart mens
Raps at they own expense, hense
I’m actually nice though, the ladies know
I’ll turn the shuffle on your iPhone to crazy mode
Throwing punches like Michael, and maybe chose
The wrong road, but I know, that the haters
State on thing, but actually say reload
I’m killing this now, what is America without
A president? What’s the game without me
How do syllables sound? Ain’t got no villa uptown
Can’t even pronounce Beverly Hills
I’m chin-chilla, no sound, I’m hip-hop’s energy drink
I’m red like the devil, no bull, I terror where terrorists live
You could never predict how dirty it gets
I’ve made you my personal bitch
I’m the king, why would they never admit?
I don’t count bars, cause I don’t have any bars to count
Never met the cops uptown, I ain’t wanna clown
I don’t have large amounts of cash
But I’ve dropped more punches than Michael
God damn, that’s gotta count
Your music goes in from the right and out of the left ear
Keep it up, yell clear, and tell me more ’bout next year
How you gon’ blow up, all your homies show up
But I still smell fear, bring you in a closeup
You can’t sit with the grown ups
So that’s what you’re made of
That’s my platinum status, that’s why critics do the classification
That all rappers are the same, sounding same
Yeah I won’t out with your name, cause that’s also
What many rappers do to mount on the fame
Never would like to be him, never would like to lean to it
These rappers rap, but could’ve sworn they can’t feel music
No I won’t go or be stupid, I’m the next classic
Puttin’ out racks, bitch, too good for my own good I even text magic
Learn to act, shit, you ain’t all that, what you call that
You don’t ball man, you licking on some balls and
Call it balling, I get it, couldn’t even feel it, I’ll kill it
Suspicious why they won’t put me on the tracks, just a kid it’s, all-in