I'm pokin' moms like gas catchin' Catchin' flak from these riff-raffs And backle tackle hacky-sack, don't slack And listen to the not whack I got deadlier verses than Mortal Kombat Yeah, you dudes messin' with the wrong cat Say a few words and homies lookin' like a wombat And my crew's tighter than a f**in' thong strap Waiters on the mic, that makes a [???] pact Cause I'm packed too, I ain't jestin' I bang women like a Smith & Wesson And got five bangers left in rotation And "Blam!" sticking hands up from whole nations I get low with a bridge in the cove 1987, and the stereo drones Tradin' more paper than the old Dow Jones The beat's sweeter than a box of Honeycombs Alright, someone's starter's shinin' through the night I'ma' shining star over the boards like Lite-Brite Put a [pressure?] on his cup and pencils, make the diamonds right But you know I ain't goin' out without a hard fight This beef, like a butler with a knife in his back [It sure be rural?] I a**a**inate the track I'm eatin' MC's in size by the pack While I smoke a bag of meth Then I smoke a bag of crack My fist will get us [???] like a tissue And I gotta' lot of problems on my 100th issue So subscribe to my articles and fan letters That be more profound than your average yellow-belly-bed-wetters So go ahead and shout "Fire" down the hall And while you cover your wrists, she cover my ba-alls I'm an entrepreneur, enterprise calls Wayne rappin' the all handicap stalls