[Intro]
Warm it up, real quick
Let's warm it up: microwave
Shit 'bout to get hot: Summer
I don't know if they ready for this: virgin
Yo

[Verse 1]
The bars show you mad struggle
Along with detailed scriptures of my past trouble
That’s why they try to keep me quiet with a bad muzzle
Can’t take the same leaps and bounds as me
When they lack the hustle and the calf muscle
Words from a legend speaking from the heart
Said, if you going to war, weaponry is a start
Do your dirt all by your lonely, let it be in the dark
You givin' birds bread then let it be in the park, Joey
Tip me wrong, many mourn when the semi’s warm
'Bout my bread, so I spot it if a penny’s gone
And I’ll bet, learned that from the Nets
If you tryna be a billionaire get rid of any Thorn
'Cause you’ll get fucked if they shoot you, emptied on
It’s just they way of making a mini porn
I watch my haters get sick
It’s that hard living in my shadow, get off my silhouette’s dick
Tailor-made suits, double breast fit
Set trip, get your name on the next clip
Sometimes before you can add, gotta minus (Talk to 'em)
Some of y’all don’t get the math or the science
Means I’m aiming for wealth, some say
Sky’s the limit, I say that's short-changing yourself
So uh-uh, uh-uh, y’all ain't the same as me
I get bread, you lose Jackson’s: Jermaine Dupri
BS about Joe, refrain it, please
You’ll just untame a beast, he just became unleashed
All who defamed are deceased, so the topic should pass
An assembly line would show 'em I'm not in they class (Oh)
Had some a'ight jams, them fans came and left
And you ain’t know they was one night stands
Let 'em testify, witnesses, hearin' is indicative
N***as is sick of it, let it go, get a grip
[Chorus]
I think I’m Sug’ Ray, Ali
Joe Fraiz’, who the fuck gon' stop me?
He think he Holyfield, Iron Mike
Fo’ fifth let him feel what the iron like
I think I’m Mayweather, Pacquiao
Screamin', "Money ain’t a thing!" Pullin' stacks out
I think I’m Cotto, Shane Mosley
Slow death to anyone who oppose me

[Verse 2]
Son (Sun), I’ma always shine, yellow
Think I’m about to get up on that? Hell no
Long as shorty keep my tip hard: shell toe
Certain I’m a stick-to-the-script: velcro
Springers, fakers, think that they just prospered
Without being linked to the majors (Uh)
My only response is the finger to haters
Watch it get ugly, Mbenga, Lakers
So when they ask how I feel about hip-hop
I sighed and replied, "Take a lucky guess"
Just being sincere, I ain’t talking pioneers
When I tell dudes I don’t think that Dougie’s fresh
Used to roll through the trenches, slept on cold benches
Holds on my expenses, smoke 'til I was senseless
Now the flow’s so relentless
Fuck CDs, should be sold in syringes (Oh)
I can’t explain it, they love the sound
Subtle with the pound, you don’t want trouble, clown (Here we go)
If I’m at the bar ordering a couple rounds
I’m in between two birds like a double down
Where I’m from they cock and shoot like it’s all logical
Send a lot of work to them hospitals
Dress the AK up 'fore they pop at you
Handguns, night scope, call it the Chopper suit
So if you tired of all the wack dudes, call me in
Rap historian, slash my class’s Valedictorian
Your future’s at a stand still
Must be a flat on that Delorean
I tried tellin' 'em, "Concede, the deal's closed"
They disagreed, they believed that they real close
Tough guys turn talk show like Steve Wilko’s
Scream "Fuck 'em!" Eat dildos with each pill dose
All the rap dudes they got highly regarded
Tell me they psyche might be slightly retarded
Nowadays before the shows, I buy me a cartridge (Uh)
Though them phony ass dudes ain't likely to start with
Peepin' how the vets wanna stop me (Put your)
Money where your mouth is: Ted DiBiase
And he won’t be able to reach for a biscuit
With O’s on his head like a B-More Fitted
Uh, black hoody and black tux
Tearin' stacks up, with a model and her rack tucked
Gettin' my Extreme Makeover on
Knock that bitch down and build her back up (Oh)
Uh, think twice before you act up (Oh)
Around flames, wrong time to be gassed up (Oh)
You never heard blowin' smoke from a grass hut
Nine times out of ten, it’ll be your last puff
[Chorus]
I think I’m Sug’ Ray, Ali
Joe Fraiz’, who the fuck gon' stop me?
He think he Holyfield, Iron Mike
Fo’ fifth let him feel what the iron like
I think I’m Mayweather, Pacquiao
Screamin', "Money ain’t a thing!" Pullin' stacks out
I think I’m Cotto, Shane Mosley
Slow death to anyone who oppose me

[Outro]
Haha
Talk to 'em (Joey!)
Uh
Uh, uh, uh (Uh)