I'm pokin' moms like gas catchin'
Catchin' flak from these riff-raffs
And backle tackle hacky-sack, don't slack
And listen to the not whack
I got deadlier verses than Mortal Kombat
Yeah, you dudes messin' with the wrong cat
Say a few words and homies lookin' like a wombat
And my crew's tighter than a fuckin' thong strap
Waiters on the mic, that makes a [???] pact
Cause I'm packed too, I ain't jestin'
I bang women like a Smith & Wesson
And got five bangers left in rotation
And "Blam!" sticking hands up from whole nations
I get low with a bridge in the cove
1987, and the stereo drones
Tradin' more paper than the old Dow Jones
The beat's sweeter than a box of Honeycombs
Alright, someone's starter's shinin' through the night
I'ma' shining star over the boards like Lite-Brite
Put a [pressure?] on his cup and pencils, make the diamonds right
But you know I ain't goin' out without a hard fight
This beef, like a butler with a knife in his back
[It sure be rural?] I assassinate the track
I'm eatin' MC's in size by the pack
While I smoke a bag of meth
Then I smoke a bag of crack
My fist will get us [???] like a tissue
And I gotta' lot of problems on my 100th issue
So subscribe to my articles and fan letters
That be more profound than your average yellow-belly-bed-wetters
So go ahead and shout "Fire" down the hall
And while you cover your wrists, she cover my ba-alls
I'm an entrepreneur, enterprise calls
Wayne rappin' the all handicap stalls