[Produced by Rob Holladay]

I can't get no satisfaction
Why? I'm in a whole 'nother class of rappin'
Fast for 40 days and 40 nights
Until I walked on the moon like Swagger Jackson
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's an epic tale
They saw my names on the forums and the blogs
And they said he's a herb, he's a lame, it's an epic fail
FOH, SMH, n***a LOL
But what they don't understand is important
To statistics I'm supposed to be hangin' from my neck in jail
Or on a slab in the mortuary freezin'
With a blank stare on my face lettin' off a wretched smell
I'm from the land of the smokin' gun, smokin' dices
On the run with the Christ of the poltergeists
Duckin' death, chasin' life like an ambulance
Candyman, USB Flip Cam handy man
You'll never catch me slippin' on the Grassy Knoll
Or at the bottom of a well screamin', "Lassie, no!"
I never spit nothin' lesser than a nasty cold
I'm from the era of Giselle shades and flashy gold
Bear Ballys and Girbauds and a classy low
A pretty dime with a neck full of baby powder
Puttin' time in, tryna get a baby out her
Pull her hair, squeeze her neck, bring the crazy out her
Beatin' it... oh oh yeah...