(feat. Percee-P)



[Kool Keith]

Yeah, what's up with all you stupid motherfuckers out there

giving me that jive vibe and that jam jam, huh

Don't come back with grass between your ass

Cause I'm out here to last and move on forward past

That's right, I gets deep up in that rectum and I checks them



I got a problem, niggas is wack and they cold fronts

Suburban areas, born and raised with no blunts

Never had a gun, one to pump in a shootout

Always went to church with mom and wore a suit out

Who doubt, can it be hard faking these gods

Yo Don, the kid down the block, he's writing your style

Kicking your style, flaunting your style, jocking your style

Did you see him at the Apollo and

Following, swallowing sperm and

Then throw up, blow up, then pick a ho up

I never need to suck a dick for a deal

I never need a car to pull a fly bitch

I leave you standing like an S1-W

Cold and freezing with your asshole standing

Coughing, sneezing, begging, pleasing

MC's smell like fish, that's a reason

Oh you cut your hair bald?

Hey yeah yeah yeah yeah

A lot of humane with rap skills

Now you're selling your asshole dreams on Hollywood Hills

Like a shark would bite, suck my deals with gills

Cause you're no frills, taking feminine pills reel to reel

My cock you feel, fuck that shit

Your girl is wet as a seal

You can't front man, act like a stunt man

Fool of the girls, cause your lover is one man

I know the girls and the girls that lick girls

But it's hard to breathe with your bullshit gheri curls

Don't try to step to the X with that ill shit

I'm not P.M. Dawn, crazy man with real shit

Don't try to play me cause you gotta do shows, hoes

Wipe that shit out your nose



[Percee-P]

In '88 it was all about an ill flow

Lyrcial goodies, not a hoodie and a steel toe

Talking bout you wrecking parties, stretching hotties

Catching bodies, then let me see you step to Gotti

I stunned you with skills, megatons of it

Fuck the guns and shit, I'll beat anyone you get

I cut you off like a sharp machete blade

Swear to God, the only card you be pulling is Medicaid

Joke to me, broke MC with a gold head

Wrecking, checking say better rhymes on my own shit

I got a deal corruption and come up with

But niggas like you just suck dick

Like cattle, punk rappers I rounds up

Yo chief, I turns your fucking beef into ground chuck

You're pulling bitches? Nope, not on my block

Nigga, the only hoes you can get is from my glock

Boom boom boom boom



[Kool Keith]

Yo Don, punch the fuck in, you're late



[Godfather Don]

Body bag 'em, I stang 'em with lyrical dimes be hangin up

Niggas that figure we're the triggers with fake triggers

Never underestimate what the best will take

Of the rest state of MC's make them bless the great

Of some more top minds, align refine

To the exaggerated potency of a glock nine

I rock mine with tope rhymes in a lot time

To weaker brothers, and others who debate I got mine

I rock on beat off beat, toss meat

Where's that skill, punk? You lost me

Rehearse first curse cause we heard church worse

And facilitate rehabilitate the message purposes

Blood spatter, I'm mad as a mad hatter

Rappers stagger badder rappers at a distance for instance

Rappers get deals after kicking nil

I'm checking skill after that's a drill technical bill

Hearse blood on my first drug so leave nubs for hands

My Tims land like Van Damme to Sam

Man that's packing dust, the dust with a lush to bust

Because of us you want to get back into lyrcial thrust

But the mic you hold is overthrown

Or should I spit out of my lung on my tounge I brought a Trojan

Now I'm a disperse the verse and piece the purse

And keep the Earth decrease when I drop a piece