[Verse 1]
Yeah, it's Chris Webby
Man, I'm getting tired of all these motherf**ers talking sh** yo
Like get with the program I'm nice, nahmean?
Uh, I flip the script like I made a television writer trip off the roof
Have him somersaulting until that b**h hit
I'm the sh**, need a clothespin to not smell this
Plug both nostrils and you'll still get a whiff
Yo it's Chris, like the son of Peter Griff
So shut your lips b**h, no one asked you to spit
My dick yo it's something like a pogo stick
Partially because of the size, so jump on this
After one mixtape hit your Macbooks chip
Download, save as, pause, double click
Aw f**ing sh**, I run this ship
Like Magellan, no telling what I got up my trick
I mean got up my sleeve, but I got a disease
And you all know it already, it's that A.D.D
Causing me to stumble my words
Pediatricians still wondering if I will ever f**ing mature
I'm that trick-or-treating motherf**er knocking at your door
Blacked out, trying to find myself the sloppiest of who*es
Run around with a squirt gun, go rob a couple stores
Get arrested by the same cop that locked me up before
Need a job, I can't afford to call in sick all day
And still somehow end up with a good week's pay
But hey, someone bring a couple 8 balls of yay
And I'll be up til 2012 to see the Earth's final day
There's too many kid's that s** at rapping
And they expect me not to turn around and bash em
They like, "Yo, you heard about this dude Sam Adams?"
And I just turn around and walk out the room laughing
This just comes too easy to me, dear
Don't think I'm accomplished? Come see me in a year
And now these blogs hate on that
b**h you'll see me on two girls one cup before fresh new tracks
Can't you see I'm dead nice?
So f** you, I'll ruin all the credibility of your website
Barstool tool, El Pres talks a lot of sh** online
But in person I'll see what he says
Cause really I just don't care
That's why all these other new rappers just won't dare
To start beef, cause I'm Bill the Butcher with that
Look at the facts before I put my foot in your a**
I'm rambling more, so b**h understand that it's war
And I was built for conflict, rap's Randy Couture
From CT to the West Coast
They know I'm sicker than an AIDS patient with dystentery and strep throat
The best quotes you ever heard in your life
Al Bundy to a track, let me murder the mic
Spitting on a beat's my only purpose in life
So if you're stepping in my way you'll get murdered tonight
I got a handle of Georgie and a bottle of Sprite
Three Vics and an attitude looking for a fight
Of these new white boys Webby is the best to rap
And if you don't think so, motherf**er get your head detached
Cause if I really cared for your opinion
I'd make AutoTune club hits instead of spitting (banger!)
I need to get my a** back to drug counseling
Before I relapse and roll another ounce again
But count me in, I'm ready coach
This JV sh** isn't fitting Webby, coach
Cause I am varsity material
I am a k**er, every part of me is serial
And I'm copping sour by the pound
Brain quicker than a pitch from Kenny Powers on the mound
And yes I end careers, no doubt
So think it out if you choose to put my name in your mouth, b**h!
[Outro]
I'm the Nucky Thompson of this white boy rap sh**
You wanna see how I do business?
Show your face in Connecticut again
Ha, b**h a** motherf**ers
Gonna talk sh** about me on a blog like you know what's good?
You're a f**ing music blog, post music
No one gives a f** about your opinion
And Sammy, sorry about that
It's not that I don't like you, really
It's just that I don't respect you
Shout to my ninjas, cowabunga b**hes!
Ha, and I'm out. Let's go!