Lyrics:
he?"
Very few MC's keep it true as me
And I'm buyin' Wingstop's, I'm talkin' two a week
Said they wanted beef, now the crew deceased
Hunnid million
to put them other chumps on the back burner
You got buns, I got Asperger's
Just let me rest my head between that set of D's
While I shred MC's like
To my motherfuckin' man 50 Grand, the alcoholic man
Inject a tall can in his bloodstream if he can
Biggie Smalls, the pussy stroker
MC provoker,
know it's true
I'm the mack and the (?) from the big Oak Town
Laying track by track that vicious sound
All you sucker MC's hating my face
Even though
hat ich ein' Plan, aber kein' Namen
Wollte alle MCs burnen, scheißegal wie groß sie waren
Heute rapp' ich meine Takte, natürlich nur Kompakte
Biste
Uncle
Rippin' the microphone
And blowin the stage apart.
These MC's ain't got no heart,
They need to quit before they start.
Shakin'
when you front, you make mad, yeah, all the way
Freak this, funky twin powers activate
Sheik on the mic with the cape and muscles
Crushing MC's while
I wake up my girl, get me mad right
The king of rock come on and there is none higher
Sucker MC's should call me sire
Standin' out here
Talking,
basement, I keep studios in gun ranges
Plus, I got more G's than Sicily
Pizzeria rotisserie, burn MC's out they misery
[Chorus]
Aiyo, Ghost, these
adhesive
Stuck to your ass, like tissue when your wiping fast
MC's have a hard time believing
I mark with death, hard to kill like Steven
When Jake come
All these cartoon character MC's gettin airborne
Takin off like a hot air balloon
Goin up up up, oh no kaboom
Bring your heroes down to ground zero
and locking
MC's macking stalking folks
Lyrically attacking squawking jokes
Got the bouncers bounding
Got to get pounding
When the vibe starts winding got
out the grave like Michael Jackson in Thriller
Iller than most MC's 'cause I be killin' 'em
Most emcees turn into ghost emcees
Yeah, give the drummer
I'm incredible I mix up shit like cake mix
Keep it blazin hot rhymes burn to keep you frost bit
MC's is assed out cause they lost it
Peep my
thang, it's a brown MC
Niggas goin buffin' DPG (Dogg Pound, Dogg Pound)
Niggas mad Dogg bumpin' a bank account (wood)
But I don't recognize the busta
Makin million men march
Chorus 2x
[Method Man]
Yo, who got next? Meth got next
I chin check, all these MC's line em up god, I go ? hard
Declare
a hospital
Sittin on the corner of the bed, sick cause of what I said to him
On a track star beef take it in the kitchen
Cookin MC's all niggaz taste like
hide from it
For every hundred MC's rhymin' about birds
Only about two-thirds, I really said it without words
Yo, you ain't a thug, I can make you
and carried away
Now here's a list of MC's that can kill you in eight bars:
50, umm Jay-Z and Nas
I'ma say this shit now and never again
We ain't buddies,
to coast and
Beats and rhymes is my devotion
I'm turnin' MC's into ghosts
When I talk about
[Chorus]
[Repeat: x2]
It's that heat, that heat, that
get the paper so I don't care,
Fly that's me the epitome
Of what a real MC is supposed to be,
Fucking you up every time that I drop,
Fuck a bullet
ignite, MC's reputation, blown out of sight
On the mic device, my crew get nice, shoot dice
Doin callistetics, young diplomatics with automatics
To my motherfuckin' man 50 Grand, the alcoholic man
Inject a tall can in his bloodstream if he can
Biggie Smalls, the pussy stroker
MC provoker,
Uh-huh, uh
Jigga man, uh-huh MC
That's right
Swizz Beatz
Uh, uh, come on
It's the things that you do
That make me feel so
(Come on, inhale,
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