ur boutta jock dis shit- dat i spit from my brain to my lips,
its micah on dis mic an im rollin deep wit twenty fresh cripts,
this is celeb poker an im the only one wit da exclusive blue chips,
think befor u spit dont read ur shit straight from a script,
i spit at dis crowd wit haf a blunt stringin from my mouth,
afta i spit up- i speed like a demon on 101 south,
back in da u.s. i hit dem streets, 22's on a cadi wit bass on my beats,
five inch flat screen an guchi leatha seats,
im da numba one emcee an i took ova ur city, an in dis rap race i jus lapped ur boy diddy,
i got pity for u but love for ur effort an how hard u tried,
but nex time dont hit punchlines that rant and don’t rhyme,
i dont affiliate wit gangsters who flip burgers fo a livin,
especially to those who are homosexually driven,
dont spit bak cus either way im gonna be winnin,
im through an dis shit is finished- an now i walk away grinin