[Verse 1]
Punk MCs are junk to me
They don't work productively or constructively
And when confronted they all be sunk in they seat
Got the nerve to think they really gonna fuck with me
Come on now
This shit is whack
Let's cut the chitter chat
I'll do away with your career
In a minute flat
Got to finish tracks plus your whole gimmick's whack
Don't even send out your demo
They gon' send it back
I am here to speak the truth
But some cats be missing facts
Drop a couple songs and
Swear they're the sickest
'fact they got the balls to drop
An album and pretend its phat
I couldn't tell you son
I was too busy skipping tracks
They got these fake ass players
With they stinking ass, up in the club
Like you're the one she's winking at?
Shes throwing smiles at me
I throw a grimace back
And then I just go ahead with my pimping ass
[Hook]
We gon rock dat shit
Rip dat shit
You got some hot shit boy
Well spit dat shit
Drop dat shit
Hit dat shit
Yo we doing things you
Only wished you did
We moving shit
Doing shit
Constantly proving shit
To say say we ain't
True to this
Would simply be ludicrous
Yo, skip the foolishness
We fantastic
Listen to the party people saying
That's dat shit!

[Verse 2]
Yo these seals? at they pinnacle
Are minds at they minimal
You serving cats - fictional
You lying - habitual
You peas be indivisible
This is not permissible
My words will make you miserable
Feel like life's unlivable
Your family's holding vigils
You're murdered by my lyricals
You know my syllables
Be killing like villainous criminals
Just like religious rituals
It's so predictable
DJs will spin this joint till they collapse in a condition critical
It's irresistible like keeping a fly girl in your visuals
Grippin' shit through teen like doctors grabbing balls at physicals
Your rhymes, yo they mythical
Your album sales equivocal
Your shows: either no one goes or the crowd's invisible
Now'days it's all just typical
Cats wanna battle on message boards, chat-rooms
But never in the physical
I'm screaming 'Watch yourself' like Mystikal
To these egotistical kids
Whose style are shitty
Unwitty and despicable
[Hook]

[Verse 3: Eyedea]
I got a question
How come you sport that grin
When you know you're losing
It's like cats wanna get served for their own amusement
Well, I guess you stepping to me ain't completely stupid
At least after the battle you can
Say you helped make dope music
In a way
Even tho the weak ass flows you folks have spit have only proooved
My point again and again that many a men are just fooools
That crassic lack of passion got me asking 'whooo
The FUCK told you to grab a mic?!'
Duuude, the only people that think you
Tight are in your creeew
And they only think you tight
Because they hella wack toooo
I got shit to prove to trash talkers
Shit, I've turned down more record deals
Then ya'll will ever be offered
You fucking numb dusty crumbs must be dumb
I run laps around your tracks
While you sit in a dunce cap and suck your thumb
And to anyone who thinks they can roast me
Tell it to your girl before
She comes over to polish my trophies
[Hook]