i lace tracks with anthrax to break and blow backs/
run-raps that hijack your fans with single foot taps/
unconquerable, however improbable/
check your attackers, its more than just haters knocking-you/
representing L.I. the most Lyically Intelligent/
since Lincoln speech-writers, the ghost of dead presidents/
its evident, half of these kids need ghostwriters for keystyles/
half of them thats left barely talking like old men thats senile/
of the last quarter, 3 out of 4 got brains thats out of order/
9 out of 10 thats left are just pigs to the slaughter/
its a 1 in a million biz, dont get your hopes up kids/
when you hop on this rap-starship, dont expect to seize the bridge/
mediocraty only sells when you connected well/
to a producer with no self-respect, who'll burn in rap-hell/
expect a fire-laced cell, when the signal from the bell/
signals your 15 minutes gone, prepare in satan's kitchen dwell/