Lemme tell you bout yaself, Butchie...

Stuck on yaself like a one-man Siamese twin
Sucka, you'll melt when I write and the fire descends
Knuckle welts on your mug, don't even try to defend
Buckle ya belt, kid, the fight for the title begins
Don't even lie to me, friend, cause it's an actual fact
Your mackin's an act -- you were born with a vaginal tract
I'm laughin' at that, kid, you shouldn't even try soundin' dope
When you just took my whole dictation right down ya throat
It tightens and chokes, now whatever you spit back up at me
Is my own jism, kid, isn't it -- that's a sight I *love* to see.