Yo hard beats like this keep my mentality raw

I G off C 4 lyrics to blow off them Lex door

My tex ture be the kind that explore

MC's then blow em out metaphor after metaphor

I'm more wetter than your boy bigger

So how you figure you can fuck with this rap unemploy nigga

I should own a fly bitch house and a Benz

But I got chickenheads criminals and broke friends

that love to get in keep the seventeen spinnin

Pull out from my jaw linin, commence to split end

Brains and body parts that motion couldn't picture

Cause when I'm shittin niggaz hit mo decks than a skipper

Mr and Mrs Howe, MaryAnne and Ginger

Gilligan, you need the Professor to take the rigger

waters out I got orders to kill em softly

I wouldn't leave a trace if I died and police chalked me

Who's the Boss G you better radio the walkie talkie

For the Fatal Attract MC's that stalk me

Got a big dick and your bitch click

When I flip this I got more work than a olympic gymnast

Bust it, I cut the mustard, on any track

Milkier than Similak when I'm next up to bat

("Redman is on the mic and I'ma..."

"Dope motherfucker, yeah, you best ax somebody" -- Snoop)

(Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Sermon 8X)

Fuck the talk I walk whatever I claim to do

Knock a mule on her ass and turn her pussy black and blue

You couldn't run up if your Fighter was Virtua

I'm a round-the-clock lyricist, I sleep in my work boots

It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate

It's a thin line between the trigger and the finger of a thirty-eight

Deaths by far, my rap repatoire

be the art of murderin makin it hard for you to spar

We can chill and puff the ganja, but don't be mad when the

Funk Doc