You looking in the mouth of madness, skilled out since I had this

I'm talking bout nothing but pure D badness

My acceleration is compatible to a bima

My pockets looking greener, from the funky cold medina

Don't tell me bout the things that you done did cause I done did it

Don't tell me bout the skins that you done hit, cause I done hit it

And once I rock these, with a style that's cock deis

Good God, I get the crowd together like knock knees

Now, I don't act hard, I just mack hard

Baggin' video looking honeys with the big back yard

Yes lord, girls I'm gamin' leaving the microphone flamin'

Throwing up hip-hop signs cause that's the set that I be claimin'

Guerilla war fares for those who love to pull your card

Grimies from Fort Green to Malcolm X Boulevard

Now, if that's what you're hoping then it's the wrong things you're scopin'

I may not rap bout slittin no throats but trust me kid I'll get you open

Verse 2

Here comes a taste of the rawness, like you never saw this

Once I grip the cordless, my victory is flawless

Chaos and havoc, lyrically psychopathic

At times get pornographic, lord man I gots to have it

Then I commit to hit you with this composite that's ultimate

Too legit splendid come get wit' it for your comfort

But then sloppily, rappers try to copy me

Take pieces of my property, and use it all unproperly

And probably, been focusing a while to copy my style

But child what I'll compile is too versatile

I'm too superior, it's sort of like comparing a

Spanking new Desert Eagle to a rusty little derringer

But skip the tool, let's try to deal here with the jewel

That I'm droppin on you, now let me take you all to school

You see, to graduate in hip-hop