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Whoever underestimated, still waited,
Pumping the radio, finally they played it.
You wondered how come the album was late?
I was giving you time to get the last one straight.
Before you try to fuck with Ren,
I’ll put two in your ass and you’ll be shittin’ a size 10.
I bake your ass like a cake and all y’all flakes get frosted.
Brothers ain’t shit,
So don’t honk your horn, keep rolling.
No, I don’t wanna ride cause the shit might be stolen.
Anyway, I know your number:
You got a ‘Gas, Grass or Ass’ sticker on your bumper.
You know how it go when you got no dough:
Niggas goin out to party and you got no clothes.
And when you do get clothes, then you can’t go out
That’s the bullshit I’m talkin’ about.
I mastered The Art of War before a nigga read Sun Tzu,
Third degree black-belt, master of Gun-Fu.
Pop pills, smoke weed, even get drunk too;
And you do what you can, and I do what I want to.
Niggas’ rap albums sound like love letters,
Pen in my hand, like: damn, fam, I could do much better.
My style is strong like hard lumber;
Cute chicks get the dick,
Ugly bitches get the wrong number.
I never gave a rat’s ass or a flyin’ fuck…
Drivin’ drunk in a fire truck with the siren stuck,
Slammin’ the brakes, skiddin’ out cause the tires suck.
Went to pull you off my dick and got the pliers stuck.
You better run, cause I’m probably the only one
Crazy enough to shoot your ass with a knife and stab you with a gun.
Now Joe wanna be like Bob,
Bob got it goin’ on with no job.
And everything Rob got he got from Robin,
And everything she got, she got ho-hoppin’.
My girl Jilly wanna be like Jackie,
Fat rope chains and I think that’s wick-wacky.
Tom and Dick wanna be like Harry,
Little do they know he’s bitin’ on Barry…
Want to know my occupation, home location, and means of transportation?
The correct combination unlocked your placenta…
I got a cellular phone with a rubber antenna,
And a 3-story house, drive a 4-door Ac.
Favorite song of all time? Mobb Deep’s ‘Hit It From the Back’
I don’t know why y’all so highly regarded;
You rhyme like you’re borderline mildly retarded.
I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue
From a razor in a paper cup.
I hope every soda you drink’s already shaken up.
I hope your dreams dry like raisins in the baking sun.
I hope your titties’ all saggy in your early 20s.
I hope there’s always snow in your driveway.
I hope you never get off Fridays…
And you work at a Friday’s that’s always busy on Fridays.
I’m just a bastard with a bad habit,
Bad back, in a black Volkswagen Rabbit
…Shit, I gotta have it.
Black magic woman put a spell on me;
Fuck around and win a spelling bee.
I could walk under ladders, still win the lotto.
Ten minutes flat: built a boat in a bottle.
You see y’all got it all wrong like women in tuxedos,
And comin’ up shorter than five Danny DeVitos.
I’m on a cool ranch…get laid more than Fritos,
With five strippers, four wives and three amigos.
I go scuba divin’ in Bays at Montego,
I find gold links and snatch ‘em like I’m Deebo.
But I’m the light-skindeded version of Mandingo,
I’ve seen more Beatles and Jagged Edges than Ringo,
I used to run numbers in line they called me ‘Bingo.’
…That’s when you start to stare at who’s in the mirror,
And see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrassed.
And I got nothin’ to do but make you look stupid as parents,
You fuckin’ do-gooders; too bad you couldn’t do good at marriage!
Classical slap-stick rappers need Chapstick.
My first name must be “He Ain’t Shit”
Cause every time I’m in a car
Bitches be like, “He ain’t shit!”
I’ll ignore you sellin crack, killin people, and keepin it real,
But disrespect me and my adopted fam and die young like veal.
Wrote this lyric from in the bed wit’ a chick
She had the tightest grip around the head of my…
…Bic. Now, can I get my pen back?
How you looking like beef jerky, beefing in every verse,
But never beefing in person? Randy Savage.
You wouldn’t snap a Slim Jim,
You wouldn’t rip a wrapping on Christmas in Santa’s attic
With the hands of Eddie Scissors…ain’t you average?
I got Soul Power, never took a cold shower,
Never had a girlfriend the color of cooking flour.
My mic is a Magnum.
See me and this chick, we go back like Cro-Magnon.
Man…we did it in the back of your Magnum;
I said, ‘Put them Lifestyles back, give me the Magnums.’
Thought kissin’ ass was in my blood type? Oh, negative.
Spottin’ fools frontin’ fly, girls act material.
…You live at home with your mom.
I had a church girl, quiet girl…one girl was rich.
The most memorable girl was a Gangsta Bitch.
We went out a lot, sometimes we dressed the same,
Lickin’ shots in the park and had pet names:
I called her ‘Dollars’ cause that’s what she liked to spend;
She called me ‘Diamond’ cause my dick was her best friend.
Now who done passed you a diaper and got you thinkin’ you the shit?
Girls, don’t run that shit that beauty’s only skin deep,
Cause I don’t want no girl with a Brillo face,
Or the type that’ll leave Jheri Curl juice on my pillow case.
I’m a cold winter morning, y’all Summer’s Eve.
Life is real, reality is not a dream.
Those who chose to sleep…I wake em up,
Cause you’re sleepin with your mouth open hummin deez nuts.
This is for my bitches in the shelters that don’t need shelter, you just doin’ that shit for a crib.
And all my bad little bitches, when your baby father hits you, stick a ice cold knife in his ribs.
And all my bitches pimp the system, get your WIC, tell your workers, “Fuck that,” you gon’ have more kids.
And you ain’t have ‘em cause you need ’em, but now you gotta feed em, so you figure that your ass gon’ strip.
When I hit the bong
I’m Godzilla takin’ over Hong Kong
Eatin’ wonton with a shotgun in long johns.
Save your wack rhymes, hold your female.
Pass the Old Gold, trash the ale.
Cash your food stamps, get the WIC out the mail.
Love to eat shrimps, but I never eat snail,
Eat a whole fish except for the tail.
Keep food in the fridge so it don’t get stale,
And when there’s nothing to eat…I bite my nails.
Haters wanna ball, let me tighten up my draw string.
Wrong sport, boy, you know you’re as soft as a lacrosse team.
Once I slapped a rapper with mace,
Then I spit acid in his face, after he rinsed his eyes, no wait…
I actually grew five times my size, grabbed Ma$e by the thigh and slapped a rapper with him.
The IRS’ll never sweat me or even put up a fight…
Cause I’m sure I’ve paid more in taxes than you’ve made in yo’ life!
Whatcha gonna do to this?
You may be older than me, but you’re new to this.
Cause I been out there, queen of MC’s,
When your man was walkin’ round in mocknecks and Lee’s.
While you were over here perpetratin’ a fraud,
I was overseas on the charts with Boy George.
You’re the beginner, Shante’s the winner,
Havin’ other competition for dinner.
Sit you on the table with a plate and cup,
Say grace…and then eat your ass up.
Sorry, Mrs. Drizzy, for so much art talk;
Silly me rappin’ ‘bout shit that I really bought.
While these rappers rap about guns they ain’t shot,
And a bunch of other silly shit that they ain’t got.
I never boned a honey that I didn’t like,
I never saw a mile that I couldn’t hike.
I never had a spliff to make me choke,
I never had a pocket that was broke.
Unpredictable, liable to flip my lid…
My moms dropped me on my head when I was a kid.
Back then I lost all my marbles, today I lost my job,
So in essence, it’s Armageddon, somebody’s bound to get robbed!
I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome.
I’m causin’ more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson.
And the survey said: “You’re dead.”
Fatal Flying Guillotine chops off your fuckin’ head!
If I don’t got two balls and a middle finger to throw up,
I’m takin off both shoes and stickin each middle toe up.
My mind’s my 9, my pen’s my Mac-10.
My target? All you wack niggaz who started rappin’.
Of course I’m funky like fat people having intercourse.
Basically, the funk is stuck in your teeth…so get the dental floss.
Got more milky syllables than alphabet cereals.
You better recognize, adjust your bifocals;
Your style is local…I sit on the beach in Acapulco.
I put words together like Peter Jennings,
And skate on motherfuckers like Peggy Fleming.
I write raps, and when niggas bite, I clap.
Cause their shit sounds better now.
You’re living up in Heaven, but I know you’re mad as Hell.
Alright I might…
Have had a little glare when I stared at ya ho.
But I didn’t know she was like that,
She stared right back!
Complainin’ to my lawyer how this rookie tried to frisk me…
Jealous of my jeep, I gave his badge to the chief,
And got his ass directin’ traffic in the heat for a week.