Mama don't cry tonight//
Although I done alot of wrong, I tried to make it right//
It's just you don't understand what these niggas hatin' like//
And you ain't hearin' what these bitches say in spite//
So I take the mic//
And I kick it with that sick shit, lyrically gifted//
Spittin' nothing but hits bitch, they saliva always missed it//
I'm a star, and I ""flip modes"" like ""spliff"" kid//
Plus I take the bar, 'cuz can't nobody reach when I lift it//
I get R. Kelly visions when I battle you, it's like little kids rape//
Rhymes is so ferocious, strong enough to rip slate//
You a pussy by the pound son, I like to flip weight//
The same motherfuckers freestyle you praisin' on that mix tape//
Illness, after this you be callin' out work for a sick break//
With 8 shots from the 4, 7, bodies lay, all opposed get bitch caked//
Fuckin' pussies, E ain't above to hit a ho//
The only time you see victory is watchin' that Puffy video//
I ""Bust Rhymes"", plus i'm known to take a gat and ""make it clap""//
Hate me, and I hate you back, you fakin' cat//
Mad 'cuz i'm bad, and I kick sick scripts of your favorite rap//
Everything you sayin' wack, but I ain't even gonna start//
Think of glocks as crossover art, they gonna pop//
I make it hot, come through in the clutch, you couldn't match my flow in years//
Everything you post is like that Nas song, you ain't got no ideas//
Las Vegas style, niggas know which fools get dealt//
And I don't gotta beat you, you like that 8 Mile song, you ""Lose Your Self""//
Only 19, yet still I break backs like Hulk Hogan kid//
And i'm just warming up, your comebacks ran out like Michael Jordans did (much props and respect to MJ though)//
I'm more than sick, i'm morbid with skills, you can't see ill E//
'Cuz everything you drop is more disappointing than a new Canibus L.P.//