CHORUS (x2):
It's about time I drop my sh**!
Every bit of my skit's seen as fit to make a hit, while n***az trip
I got sick 'bout all this time that I waited
Now I gotta drop my sh** cuz I've been feeling constipated
n***az of all persuasions is wasting time durations on creations
The application of my vexation's abrasions and dome inflations
My lips slips a blitz of skits with obesity
To rappers, I'm a cake that tastes like sh**, they want no piece of me
Please, pussies get punctured, my poems impose a**umption
That nigz who big up their chest, my function's a f**in' breast reduction
You s** sh**, so shut your crotch licker
Think not about AIDS, cancer and leukemia n***a, I'm sicker!
What I jot'll break ya like bottles, my throat throttles
Put a statue on skates, you can't get a better role model
This sample's an example of ample artistic carnage
I put your garbage raps in bondage, pay the lord some homage
I make mockeries of your glossaries in this odyssey
If God made D a steak, you fakes couldn't put a fork in me
Take what you wrote and elope
Or sprinkle some c**aine on your a**hole if you want your sh** to be dope!
CHORUS (x1)
My chapters manufacture fractures, your knack to be an actor
Is a factor in the fact that my rapture captures your pack to smack 'em down like tractors
Practice can't make you perfect, you're the exception
My perception is that your mother shows no affection for your conception
The reception of your invention makes your dome hurt
My flow splurts to give n***az problems like math homework
The provision of my rendition escapes your vision
Causing collision with your mission, your condition needs physicians
Lyrically I'm superior by far
Rappers enrol in mini-golf lessons if you wanna be up to par
My creative concepts cause kids to cling
To clues of how I come with novel ideas like Stephen King
I take no vacation from my verbal vocation
Your vegetated ventilation needs a vocal variation
Your position in hip-hop should be ridded
You're like my dick to a virgin n***a, you don't f**in' fit in!
CHORUS (x2)
This ba*tard mastered blasting ma**es of a**es of all cla**es
The fastest sprinter could not get pa**ed this inventor of ma**ive cla**ics
s**ers get sliced by syllables and similes
Got flavour like a hill of beans as big as the Philippines
n***az get mic excited but need Pointers from Sisters
My scripts will indeed work to make Siskel & Ebert give this
Two thumbs up, who comes rough to pump 'nuff true funk stuff
Your raps encourages the purchases of earmuffs
Bluffs is what you're calling when balling you're better
I dare you to come near, I'll take care of you like a babysitter
sh** I shoulda shot ya straight to ya grill
Still, lyrics load my lips to buck ya like a dollar bill
The reaction to your subtraction is satisfaction
Your traction had no sanction, my counteraction left you in fractions
Here's the reason MCs have fears of me
I'm like a toilet with no sense of humour, I take my sh** seriously
CHORUS (x2)