Lyrics

[Verse 1] Punk MCs are junk to me They don't work productively or constructively And when confronted they all be sunk in they seat Got the nerve to think they really gonna fuck with me Come on now This shit is whack Let's cut the chitter chat I'll do away with your career In a minute flat Got to finish tracks plus your whole gimmick's whack Don't even send out your demo They gon' send it back I am here to speak the truth But some cats be missing facts Drop a couple songs and Swear they're the sickest 'fact they got the balls to drop An album and pretend its phat I couldn't tell you son I was too busy skipping tracks They got these fake ass players With they stinking ass, up in the club Like you're the one she's winking at? Shes throwing smiles at me I throw a grimace back And then I just go ahead with my pimping ass [Hook] We gon rock dat shit Rip dat shit You got some hot shit boy Well spit dat shit Drop dat shit Hit dat shit Yo we doing things you Only wished you did We moving shit Doing shit Constantly proving shit To say say we ain't True to this Would simply be ludicrous Yo, skip the foolishness We fantastic Listen to the party people saying That's dat shit! [Verse 2] Yo these seals? at they pinnacle Are minds at they minimal You serving cats - fictional You lying - habitual You peas be indivisible This is not permissible My words will make you miserable Feel like life's unlivable Your family's holding vigils You're murdered by my lyricals You know my syllables Be killing like villainous criminals Just like religious rituals It's so predictable DJs will spin this joint till they collapse in a condition critical It's irresistible like keeping a fly girl in your visuals Grippin' shit through teen like doctors grabbing balls at physicals Your rhymes, yo they mythical Your album sales equivocal Your shows: either no one goes or the crowd's invisible Now'days it's all just typical Cats wanna battle on message boards, chat-rooms But never in the physical I'm screaming 'Watch yourself' like Mystikal To these egotistical kids Whose style are shitty Unwitty and despicable [Hook] [Verse 3: Eyedea] I got a question How come you sport that grin When you know you're losing It's like cats wanna get served for their own amusement Well, I guess you stepping to me ain't completely stupid At least after the battle you can Say you helped make dope music In a way Even tho the weak ass flows you folks have spit have only proooved My point again and again that many a men are just fooools That crassic lack of passion got me asking 'whooo The FUCK told you to grab a mic?!' Duuude, the only people that think you Tight are in your creeew And they only think you tight Because they hella wack toooo I got shit to prove to trash talkers Shit, I've turned down more record deals Then ya'll will ever be offered You fucking numb dusty crumbs must be dumb I run laps around your tracks While you sit in a dunce cap and suck your thumb And to anyone who thinks they can roast me Tell it to your girl before She comes over to polish my trophies [Hook]