[I.A.T.G.]
First up, it's Mr. I Touch Rods
Over 9000 'Ye songs in the kids iPod
Best part is this guy thinks he's hard, thinks he's in the mob
But this guy still flippin burgers, it's his full time job
Talkin' mad sh**, like his material prophetic
But the rhymes he tries to bust are just straight up pathetic
He prosthetic, sympathetic to anyone that shares his genetics
Stickin' to people's dicks like his mouth magnetic
Next up, Mr. Rimmer, Mr. Beginner
Mr. prance around in his underwear like a lottery winner
He's attracted to Nas... PHYSICALLY
Typically listens to his albums religiously
Cops the guy's flow like straight up mimicry
He wants to be with him but it's all just imagery
Initially, doesn't seem so bad, turn the ignition key
It seems like he's following this guy's ministry deliberately
His writing style's like a damn child, it's so vile
Not much of a legacy this kid has compiled
Walk up in my hood and see this guy get rifled
Hell, I'll put him to sleep myself... Michael
Next Redmasta... not much to say
But this guy get's hotter than Super Chef Bobby Flay's souffle
So I think I'll leave this one alone
To avoid unnecessary conflict in my combat zone
SlimNatey, do I even have to write anything?
Argumentative, he has to black and white everything
Despite the green light, no need to excite
As long as this guy is contrite, no need to cook his egg white
The only other guy that I can think of is Madd Dogg
I have just one question, Y U SO MAD, DOG?
Is it because you're ugly and walk with your head in a bag, dog?
Or is it because your production is just so BAD dog?
Maybe, this guy thinks he can play me
But I'm not a toy even if he's just a premature baby
I'm lazy, I'm running out of rhymes for this sh**
Need to reload, put another magazine in my clip
Last but certainly not least, Illegal Weapons
I think it's time I taught this mother f**er a lesson
You may be a couple years my senior, but I ain't a freshman
Cause while I'm spitting out gold, this kid is spitting out resin
It's impressive, just how bad your lines can get
I think they'll get even worse: I'm inclined to bet
Don't be upset, you're played out like Brett, and floppy diskettes
Think I saw you on the road yesterday cleaning some guy's Corvette
But you see, my n***as too ILL to be LEGAL...
Once we get our fill of rap, we'll be considered regal
But of course you're too busy choking eagles...
That is of course when you're not listening to Bad Meets Evil
I'm painting my art all over you, you're just an easel
Just end your life now, here's the juice, get a needle
You must have been high if you thought that we were equals
Compared to you I was born to Mary in the steeple
You just a garage, I'm a cathedral
Don't f** with me ever, because it may be lethal