[Verse 1: Chuuwee]
Check it, what's up with all this boredom?
You fresh to d**h, I'm Post Mortem
The Jordan of recordin',thug poet did the score
It's like the '93 Bulls champion sh** I be endorsin'
I get these women wet, they bring me gifts I call em dolphins
The flow is off the coast, I'm sure of it like where I'm walkin'
With the sand between my toes so get the f** up off my dorsal fin
Coastin' doors open in that suicide with dro and wind
Inhalin' never chokin' on that buddha blessed, I'm golden, sh**
This rappin' sh** I hold it like it's holstered
I'm off the wall like hatin' n***as snatchin' down my posters
I'm up and down the city like a f**in' roller coaster
You best to put that offer on the table like a coaster
My management legit, she handle sh** like she supposed to
And TUS will murder any n***a that approach us
I kick a style like Jackie, Jet, and Chuck Norris the coldest
Still I'm hot as Pensacola when my pencil get to rollin' n***a
Fill me with liquor watch me start a drunken rage
And write a thousand words a minute on somebody else's page
Then sell it for a million to some wack n***as and lames
And still be k**in' sh** with half the sh** I wrote in seventh grade
They burn me like a blunt, I love when my sh** get played
You need to P90X your rhymes you weak as seven days
You speak they don't applaud
I spit and turn the stage into a rave and shut the venue down like fire marshals say
The Prince of Sacramento; on my hierarchy phase
Cut the joggin' before I put you out like trash on garbage day
Or a small kitchen flame, I douse you n***as fires
You n***as lyric liars, my n***as vivid writers
I light myself on fire until I'm hot like Richard Pryor
You wack as sh** at this, go get a grip, go get some pliers
You see me on the fliers, I'm the lyricist for hire
And I'm pickin' n***as off like scopin' hostiles from my sniper..
Bow!