I be that nigga who assault emcees on a daily basis//
thats why when they challenge me its their time that they’re wastin’.
subliminal thoughts are what i keep on my mothafuckin mind//
just like cockin a 4 fifth, my rhymes are considered a crime.
I’ll leave niggaz like 50 cent feelin like fuckin pocket change//
cuz the rhymes i spit are so ill, most emcees cannot maintain
cuz everyone of my words are filled with verbal hollow tips//
peircin through bitch niggaz flesh as their blood begin to drip.
down their mothafuckin skin leavin a dark red path//
now they stained with they own fluid like they took a blood bath.
i stay smokin bitch niggaz like they a bag of fuckin weed//
and yall call yall selves the best, shiid, nigga pleaze!
cuz I bore hatred...fuck yall fiasco’s..yall ex-Little Rascal//
yall would’nt be 'hot'if yall ate 'hot peppers' dipped in 'Tabasco'.
cuz my rhymes r so ‘COLD’(ill), there leave you with the lyrical flue//
and have you so sick you’ll have to sip on Campbells Tomato Soup.
UMM, UMM GOOD, are how my rhymes are always described//
thats why every time i flow, niggaz stop and comprimise.
cuz they know i’ll tear up there flesh with the flows on them i spit//
so keep talking yo shit, and you’ll be the next nigga i rip.

What ya’ll know about my life runnin up and downtown//
dissin cops, bustin shots and leavin niggaz on the ground.
what ya’ll know about doin time in the penetentrary//
yall bitch niggaz yall will always be fake emcees.(repeat)