[Hook]
I run the game (I run the game)
I run the show (Stop that)
When the curtain open, they be yelling Ab-soul (Go 'head)
And if you didn't (Know what?)
Then now you know (What's up?)
Asshole, Ab-Soul kick up flow
I got you

[Verse 1]
Back by popular demand, it's your man
Dot, tell them what I am -- (You's a motherfucking scoundrel)
Villainous, I don't care if you sensitive
I'm different -- my only proof of birth's a death certificate
Brain like a fried egg, dick long as my leg
I don't give a fuck though, but I love having sex
Hit my weed man up, told me all he had was stress
Rock, ask DT how he wanna handle this
Now I'm in the Nickersons but I ain't got no business here
Cause I could get killed cause of the colors on the shit I wear
Fuck it though, I'm in this bitch -- acting all hard
But watch me turn impotent as soon as n***as trip and shit
I only got one life and n***a I ain't risking it
I'll probably catch cancer by twenty-six
Smoke like a burning building, never choke and if I do
That's that killa, meaning, n***a that'll murder you
That's the fire on my chest dude
"Ab-Soul you smoke too much, how it affect you?"
One time, I got so high up in the sky
That I ran a couple laps then took a nap in the restroom
Get it? I took a nap in the restroom
I'm in the laboratory, sipping vodka out a test tube
And if anybody wanna throw shots or leave flesh wounds
Tell 'em I'll be in the streets with my cleats
[Hook]

[Verse 2]
Show-stopper, Carson globetrotter
Rhyme like popping a Glock, get low like Flo-Rida
You know that n***a Soul keep one in the chamber
Motherfuck a judge though, there's no justice for brothers
My n***a B Slim in the pen like permanent ink
And like my first LP, I'm waiting on his release
Machete sharp on you n***as every sixteen
I should charge per bar like a store that sell dumbbells
I ain't finna kiss the bride, but I'm finna unveil the truth
N***as be trash like junk-mail in the booth
After who? Y'all know that
So I think I'm wasting a gift if y'all gon' rap
Am I the shit? Read my black ass lips
Like confessions of video vixens we all wanna hit
Kick it like a creative recreation on some everyday shit
And I don't even own a pair, but it's fair to say I

[Hook]

[Verse 3]
Hit you up like Pac
Then when you get to heaven ask Biggie who shot you
I pity you rap dudes, you n***as in my way
You're talking to the father, don't play Marvin Gaye
Better yet, I'm the author-slash-martyr with a probable cause
To ball harder than Coach Carter starters
Pack more green than the team that gave the boot to Brett Favre
And you could hear the horror in my aura
Monster, like the one under your bed
Say your prayers 'fore I shed through your epidermal layer
With intentions to hurt you like a technical foul player
Even in a scrimmage I make you hemorrhage
I got a scheme to get richer than movie screen depictions of Bruce Wayne
No bats, just game
In fact, you n***as wanna know why you're lame?
I gets more fly, you stay plain, how 'bout that?
More figures than your calculator could count
I got more flavor than garlic on n***as' recording
I hate y'all, I'm sick of rap
Punch, hit the space bar
[Outro]
Largo termino...
Long term, bitches
If you can compare yourself to anybody else in hip-hop who would it be?
And this is not comparing them to be side by side
This is somebody that you see great music inside them
And every time you hear them it makes you wanna work on your craft
Man, really I mean, I mean K Dot man, that n***a's a monster
K Dot?
That n***a's a monster
Uh, he's probably the only rapper still that gives me the chills at this point
Aside from like Hov or someone like that