This man C-Bo battling me, I’m outta his league he shoulda known-that
The force of my rhymes have his head like old jerseys getting’ it thrown back
Leavin his body ova by the table and his head were the stove-at
Legs in the livin’ room and bone stuck in the wall were the phone-at

Wit my flames I turn ya whole house into a popcorn bag
Cause every body getting poped wit da heat even ya moms and ya dad
Know why? Cause I don’t like fags gays fruits or homo’s
You can get jumped on like low-pros on a low-low

I got a whole bunch of my homies, includin latinos and negros
Beatin up on this nigga who underestimated me, named C-bo
That wasn’t a smart choice now he is about to get D-boed
Cause im takin his pride his victory and a hand full of C-notes

So how does hit feel to get done dirty by the new comer and his words
Tell you the truth I think im the veteran and you’re the herb

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