Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book? Look give it back you´re wicky wack With your ticky tack calls didn´t touch you at all I didn´t touch your hand man you know its all ball
You sold a few records but don´t get slick ´Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits You´ve been in the game, your career is long But when you break it down you´ve only got 2 songs MC´s are like clay pigeons when I´m shootn´ skeet I just yell pull and Mike drops the beat You people call yourselves MC´s but you´re garbage men Takin´ out the trash when you pull out the pen
And if you don´t like then hey fuck you!
I read about you up on page 6 They was trashin´ your ass it´s sad you´re getting dissed Now talk about your face now don´t get pissed
But I suggest you see a dermatologist I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak It´s gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak I´ve got billions and billions of rhymes to flex ´Cause I´ve got more rhymes than Carl Sagan´s got turtlenecks Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch You´re hearing me and you´re like "oh my god its Sasquatch!" I´m walkin´ on water while you´re stepping in shit So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets lit
And if you don´t like then hey fuck you! So put a quarter in your ass cause you played yourself
Sucker MC´s it´s me they´re resenting In the animal kingdom they call it presenting With the dipsy doodle the kit and caboodle The truth is brutal your grandma´s kugel Kings County is my stomping ground The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown So don´t ask me to wine and dine ya I´m from Brooklyn you´re from Regina You´re like Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam You´re just yellin´ and wildin´ wondering who I am With those lies you´re telling you look like Toucan Sam But my style´s impregnable like the Hoover Dam