I wait to see your skull vibrate

when I bury the hatchet

I hope you catch it

I'll attach it

to his focus when I broke his head in half

feel the wrath on my behalf

I drop math

and english

leaving you squeamish

then I squish your wish

you're all phucken dreamers

no time for tiddlywinks if your tities is pinks

then you are white and I'm not the right man (not for me)

but you can blow pipe and my style is so tight

I be carvin' mc's when I'm starvin'

you little chunks of punks that I dunks in my coffee

get off me I'm not your softie

but you will call through your breath to him,

def to them

silly broads, I phuck them then I chuck them

in the river

without a liver,

then I donate to science, 'cause I'm a giver

the mysterious clearly busts brains with my brawn

ask Sean

Cassidy about how I trash mc's

on the daily, Alex Haley had to write about it

darlin but it's true

get a clue

I'm tellin you the truth you'll be toothless

then the boots gets smoked like they on fire,

I desire

like Salt N Pepa I'll phuck a fat heifer,

like I was Fritz the Cat

and she admits to fat,

so I'm movin' removin wackness from my stratosphere

if I thought that that was near. . .

[CHORUS:]

"Still bet that you can harm me, but you don't alarm me..."

You're just a test tub baby

you can't fade me

but hey, G your style is lazy

boy you're crazy

losin' it

check out my fusion kit

it's welding rhymes and propelling

swelling,

getting bigger

getting niggas in hea