Kunci: F# minor
Intro 1
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Verse 1
A lot of rappers ain't shit, they just bullshit
They wanna step on stage
and pop piles of shit
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But I ain't with it, so black quit it
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Who pulled the plug?...
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You know I did it
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Cause you sound whack and,
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fucked up with no class
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stick a rhyme up in yo' ass
Light up your inner skull,
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and burn up your rectum
MC's are doo- doo I never
Fuck 'em,
like a bitch with no drawers on
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So you want a tape,
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stupid- ass with pause on
Damn, I cut you off on my radio
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As I take a step back,
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and piss on your video
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Piss on the pop charts and fake material
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Rappers know I'm stupid mad,
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And fuck all your whack groups,
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let 'em come with that cheap shit
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Now 1 Adam 12, with
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that fantasy street shit
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Or rappers who try to teach,
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and brag and pop shit
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But I'm on 8th floor,
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and ready to drop shit
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Pounds and pounds and stacked
Open the bag,
step aside and then let it pour
Hittin your brain like a current
through a lightbulb
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plus your neighborhood nightclub
Interlude 1
Beware yo, you're talkin out of your ass
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Verse 2
this much,
and you make that much
You come in your white Benz,
and pull up like Cap'n Crunch
But I don't give a fuck; I drive a Geo
Now who got the best rhymes?
While you stand stiff like
Gilligan with no Island
I burn the MC,
who wrote your fucked up style and
Cause I'm a get the axe out,
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and start choppin 'em
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Call President Bush to keep
stoppin 'em
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Whack MC'sget the fuck
out the business
Oh you with a major?
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Now tell me what is this
Yo, I'm gettin busy and hyped up
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While you gotta scream your rebel
tracks are fucked up
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off- beat and left field
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What dummy produced that?
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That shit ain't real
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I'm blowin up on your ass
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And if your show is tonight,
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I'm goin up in your ass
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Just like an outlaw,
smooth rugged and raw
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I never roll with a clown,
when I'm out on tour
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I'm not impressed,
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fuck around with that cheap style
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That African tribe shit,
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School is lettin out now,
it's three o'clock
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Fuck all that weak whack shit,
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the critic kingdom New York an'
While rappers try to talk I step
away and keep walkin
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Fuck 'em! Male
rappers and females
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Cause you ain't worth two cents,
a bag with seashells
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Try in to dance, tryin to talk,
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Tryin to preach, tryin to I'll
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Tryin to teach, tryin to scream,
listen close chief
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You're talkin out of your ass
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Interlude 2
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Verse 3
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Continuin, no fuckin bum can stop me
Unless you write in,
and tell the company drop me
But I don't think so, c'mon Freddy
I woke up at 8 o'clock, I'm fuckin ready
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For any your whack shit that's
10 weeks on Billboard,
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it's hard to tell
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the X'll get even
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your dirty ass is leavin
You're lettin off steam
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- oh yeah really?
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No time for rat
turds, you're fuckin silly
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Don't come with that phony Monie
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Cause I'm a get mad,
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stupid crazy and buckwild
Son of a bitch, step to me Rich
And watch the X flow reverse
MC's to the other side,
they get waxed though
You never knew I could rhyme?
I'm rollin all of you two- faced bastards
Ready or not,
that's why I always practice
Catch me off guard,
yo Sandman fuck you
I stand in the front while other
rappers they duck you
Come inside,
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they try to sneak out the back door
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As I get hyped and criticize
the whack more
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Fuck 'em, I got some shit
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for their black ass
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I got some shit for their whack ass
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Cause I don't hold back
with tons of mega shit
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Come on stage sway down with a weak hit
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But you think you're fresh though,
you ain't jack shit
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Smoother than Rhythm X,
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go 'head with that whack shit
Aiyyo duke, you're talkin out
Interlude 3
of your ass
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Verse 4
Yes, this is the one Rhythm X
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And all you stupid- ass motherfuckers
who think you nice
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I wanna see what you got
But I know you ain't got shit
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Ain't nuttin but jack doo- doo
dumb doo- doo whack shit
But you step in boy,
and you get played like a toy
Outro 1
SEE YA! Fuck you
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