• Audio

Lyrics

Well, you say you got wits for a word war?
Brother's slower than Stephen Hawking in a snowstorm.
You say you're pimpin' like an old porn dorm, but
Your french whores sound forlorn like french horns
I take girls, born scorned in this mad world and
turn 'em into show stoppin' cock pump openings
That beats the shit out your Popsicle-stand groping
Your ho's will tire of you and scope me.
and you'll be the only one left for chicken-choking
You think this far-fetched, but the fat lady's croaking
You couldn't stop her if you got on your knees and pled
That's it, your lyrical pimp game is dead in the bed
As for me, What if I said that
I've been in more holes than a Chinese checker peg?
And I still keep time to encroach
I like rappers how I like eggs, weak and poached
I eat 'em til my legs are wobbly
In this rap game, I'm godly
Smite your ass and you be walkin' all waddley
With powers like this, no armor on my body
Hurricane sucka punch, somebody stop me
Knock the breeze out you like a bad case of asthma
You graspin the mic like you need a gasp, gassin
While putting heads to bed with your Catholic mass raps
But you ain't holy unless a 45 is poking you
You say you're hard but you can't even hold your brew.
I take kegs like tic tacs and spit out verse-eees
Like bullets, then your ass be outta here like mullets
My syllables are skilled in passages like gullets
And got more class than passing up lass ass
They'll string around your cranium,
Syncopate brain into disruption with a well-timed combustion
'Cause your head can't hold my heat like hot potato
20 hit combo like Killer Instinct's Jago