[Intro: Justin Timberlake]
I don't understand it, tell me how could you be so low
[Verse 1: M.O.B.]
Slow down rap ain't just a game
I'll induct myself into the hall of fame
Then I'll nail your a** into the wall of shame
Nize it don't you dare say my name
My name's out there like I'm the best
I've been given a gift man I know I'm blessed
You trying to play me girl, but you know I'm not dess
I know you got a "Hart" so say it with your chest
You know I got hype, you know I got appeal
Dunking on your face like my name's Shaquille
Back to cla**, I gotta whoop your a**
But I gotta pa** this track so you know I'm real
f** you know about my damn life
I don't care what you like, I spit on the mic
Pick and roll, I got J like Mike
You're just a f**ing dyke, stay out of my life
I don't care if you don't f**ing believe in me
A lot of people don't see it in me
She told me you don't appeal to me
f** you b**h I stay real to me
I gotta win a Grammy that's all I know
If I don't win, call me DiCaprio
My rhymes are tight just like your girl last night
And I'm in it to win it, my weapon is my flow
Count more money than Dan Marino
I call an And-1 b**h that's a free throw
Kicks like Anton yeah that's what he knows
Like a white girl and a Frappacino
They know, we know, what does she know
She try to direct you like Tarantino
She f**ed more guys than a Halloween hoe
Trying to f**ing play me, boy do we know
f**ing done with you now, stay the f** away b**h
Trying to f**ing play me like a f**ing game b**h?
Imma be a million dollar name just you wait b**h
I don't care anymore, have a nice day b**h
[Hook: Justin Timberlake]
TKO, I don't understand it, tell me how could you be so low
You've been swingin' after the bell and after all of the whistle blows
Tried to go below the belt, through my chest, perfect hit to the dome
Dammit babe
[Verse 2: Luca$]
M.O.B. track so I had to spit dirty
Need 3 g's that's gonna cost 30
Chillin' with the crew, got the green in my jeans
Ideas from the weed, motive in my whole team
Check it
Imma take it real fast, flow don't stop I ain't got break pads
Semi lock down got my foot on the gas, gla**, now I'm back in the past
Back in the past, now I'm back to the future
See you talkin' sh** man you're just a f**in' loser
Up on the set filming like a shooter
(?)
You in a coupe or sedan, check it
Need a ball or a can, check it
I'm getting blowed like a fan, stackin' all the f**ing rubber bands
Showed up missing like a f**ing magic trick and
Catch me on the set with your b**h water whippin'
All these teachers say I'm slippin', but I got my Ryerson admission
Yo, keep your b**h in the kitchen, check it
And I ain't even dissin', yo
The cookin' is rythm, my taste buds are tripping and I ain't even dissing
sh** I think I said that twice, all these mans be dissing, some lyrics ain't nice
You a plain rapper, couple white on rice
If you wanna fight then scrap me on the mic
Scrap me on the mic you a b**h you a dyke
You tend to get really high
Doin' d** in my house but you better not die
Here's some water if your throat is dry
Thirst is real, that's how I f**in' (?)
Cus I'm tryin' to get the fame, eat the game like a meal
If you can't come through homie what's the deal
Crack your girls legs like a f**in' orange peel
(Ey yo shouts to m.o.b. for having me on the track y'all ready know. Earl Haig. Earl Haig rap.)