This board's my magic 8-ball, I'll grab and shake y'all
Until you come up with the goods, or get tagged with paintballs
Til you cain't crawl, bout time a nucka had his name called
I spit so much it mixes up my city's average rainfall
There's one for the almanac, son who you callin' wack?
I'll battle phone salesmen, when they hang up I call 'em back
Fake suckas, I knock 'em flat, toss 'em in cotton sacks,
Haul 'em 'back of the dollar laundromat while bumpin' conscious rap
And boom-bap with two bats until I hear their bodies snap
My nausea's back, I spit the chunks on these punks who causin' that
Awww snap, I'm 'bout to lay waste, beat heads to grey paste
And leave some no-skill netcees straight messy and shamefaced