[Verse 1: Champtown]
Get your rusty ass over 'fore I put a shine to it
See man, it's man I trust so I'ma rhyme to it
20% out of a hundred groups are mediocre
They took a medicine effect and I'm a pretty choker
So once you got a couple microphones well I'ma rep 'em
You got some Nile rapper rivers too, well I'ma check 'em
Because they new to this, I'm true to this
They shouldn't be doin' this
A lot of rappers reppin' keepin' miles is a few in this
Game, to maintain, I keep it going on
You hear the guitar and the funky beat I'm flowin' on
I don't tell 'em when I see it, I just spot it
Just runnin' me, have Soul and ain't the only person got it
And blacks don't have to act white if they like Red Hot Chili Peppers
And whites don't have to act black if they like Salt-n-pepper
Cause I like a lot of people plus The New Kids On The Block
So I'm Blackened like Metallica, look at me in shock
But nothing else matters wherever I may roam
The microphone's my best friend and the stage is my home
Our music got the sounds, our rhythms got the hooks
I listen to Kenny Rogers, Marvin Gaye, and Garth Brooks
I listened to that [?] that's [?] and [?]
But music is good music, the other is mess
The [?] you chocolate and a peppermint
What color is my soul? Here's a hint: let's hook 'em
[Chorus: Champtown, Chaos Kid, Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint

[Verse 2: Chaos Kid]
We're up in it, up in it, and way, hi ho!
It's over when I don't get on the tip of the stickity sterile
If you want to high roll
Some people are comin' the [?] road, why though?
With my soul, it's deep enough to shake [?]
My oh my!
[?] someone touches a bottle
The albino brothers steppin' 'em up, we'll wake your [?]
Yeah, I think I'm enough to rhyme so [?] look like a [high-boat?]
I don't play around, we'll run and get the five'o, wait
Hold up! They don't hold back
To just roll up, they cut no slack
You better step up to bat, or please get a hobby
Cause even a videotape can bring them [?] to rob me
Or IV, I'll put your chest [?] to the point its futile
Get back to your Indian noodles
So you will understand that you won't have the upperhand when you think I may getting brutal
The America to Bootle
To get the zoom, zam, the zip for the rip
For the kid who had to trip my tint
It's as simple as A-B-Cs and as easy as pie
But is it never to be as intuitive as the question "why?"
Bullets try to inflictin' pain [?]
[?] shade of soul, huh
[?] skills they haven't even thought about yet
But when I [?] they act as if my color soft as my step
[?]
But don't call me Vanilla Ice, Serato, or Kid Rock
And grip with the [cold super missile?] Roundabout
Cause' I'm so down, I'm out
[Hook: Champtown, Chaos Kid, Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint

[Verse 3: Eminem]
Shit, there ain't idiots bad as the fattest skinniest
Sick with a little rapper to never battle, little, piddle, or paddle the prettiest
Dumb fuck, lookin' for the hats or suck a numb
Or jackin' jeans will keep your hangin' nuts tucked
And I'm not about to take my look up it, up in a book
Plus I'm almost on top of the booty pull that coppin' a district shit
See you're just barkin' up the wrong tree
Cause I got diarrhea, myamia, I uh be a fuckin' honkey
So bad on the mic gotta make ya titterid kid with the talk what the fuck I'm saying
He just talk, but neva the type babadababa they can and they can shits to poppa hipty
I'd imagine that I poppa to put up a zipper to the to might I'd be able do the lip-sync
'cause I'm that rap in this muthafucker there is gotta be a certain rhyme this microphone stick it with the fuck i'll hoist it around might haste my home
And the DJ better stick up like a rocket
Cause he coulda scratch on a fucked up pool table with 27 pockets
Buttafingaz scratch just like a girly fight
But if our color matters, take no less than pearly whites
But I’m hardcore like rocks in a tomato
Gettin' skinned like I was boxing a potato
I wouldn't suck on the mic if it was shaped like a nipple
I done made lots of money so I'm just good if'll make like a nickel
But I'm out cold like a snowstorm
So I got nuts so fat, it'll keep my toes warm (Hit!)
[Hook: Champtown, Chaos Kid, Eminem]
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Close your eyes and try to guess my tint
Now open 'em up, even the best eyes squint