[These lyrics are intentionally left partial due to a DMCA takedown request. Please do not edit the lyrics to include the removed sections.]

[Verse]
Shit could get ludicrous, foolishness
Who is this doin' this rappin'?
Grew with this, groove with this newest shit, losin' it, snappin'
Coolin' it, rulin' it, goonin' it, my n***as clap, man
I do this shit, I'm like the rap game's Michael Jackson
Bo Jackson, the style is finesse
Me and my n***as gettin' money like the IRS
You paid less and make less, we pay our debts
I'm all about my treasure like that pirate Jack, Johnny Depp
My outfit is a Ralph Lauren/Armani mess
Italian kicks, and we on a Maserati quest
Used to hit n***as with the karate left
All these guns got a n***a doin' karate less
Mic check, one three, one two, one two
If you don't like my shit, how you think I feel? Fuck you
You ain't even half of me, don't wanna feel the wrath of me
Can't stand a wack emcee, I think I got a allergy
I only aim to be the god of rap, and I ain't leavin' that
A hundred tapes [?] hooptie [?]
I bring the static, I'm charismatic with automatics
Flip you like you won the Olympic challenge in acrobatics

[Outro]
N***a, fuck that n***a Tha God Fahim, man, he keeps droppin' tapes, man, that n***a fuckin' up my opportunity, man...
I'm tryna get me some shine. My shit more John Blaze than that!
My shit more John Blaze! Why do n***as like this n***a, man?
This n***a wack, man. I could walk around Philly and find a hundred n***as better than him, man. Fuck this n***a. Man, fuck this n***a