"Three, two, one, contact!"

[Chorus: x4]

[Apathy:] "Representin' like what"
[Biggie:] "1,000 grams of uncut to the gut"


[Verse 1:]
I'm the type that'll keep my Nikes extra white
Like seein' God's girls in fluorescent light

Plug camcorder cords in electrical fixtures
Take sensual kisses with identical sisters
(And they better give up the $$#) Celibate (*##$es

Are gettin' held under water like developin' pictures
Incredible spittin', got your skeleton twitchin'
Your head'll be twistin' like a demonic medical condition

'Till you vomit and your body is liftin' off of the bed
In position of a crucifixion with your arms spread (You're all dead)
I'm hip-hop's apocalypse, let up and Ap claims the crown

!@^#gots, step up your rap game
Suckas get shook from shoves, chick checks
You're a (*##$, you'll be cleanin' my kicks with Windex

I'm a gigolo, get a ho (*##$ that's rich
Or a little thick chick in a 626
I'm consistent, you know when Ap spits it's sick

Yeah, you're different...more like a chick with a dick
I'm a Pisces, addicted to girls, clothes, and Nikes
Material and spiritual, both worlds excite me

Flows fracture foes' flak jackets and rip fabric
A rap addict badder than you backpack !@$)gots
Ap's a beast, the cake's like crack on streets

You swear that you deep, but you can't rap on beat, (*##$

[Chorus]


[Verse 2:]
Stop the mutha$#&@in' pressure 'fore the pipes all burst, the mic's don't work

The blows that I throw lift you right off Earth
You'll get...clocked in the face and rocket through space
Shout out your hood, watch your whole block get erased

A superhuman supersoldier, hotter than a supernova
Money multiplies like Mogwais with Super Soakers
A true rap addict, y'all don't never want static, homey

You'll be at home gettin' that homeopathic
Listen...I don't care if you Christian, Muslim or Catholic
God got a whole iPod filled with Ap's %#@!

Y'all came for cream but get very little
'Cause Ap reign supreme, y'all barely drizzle
Metaphysical, still count cheddar better than digital

Money machines runnin' the scenes, summon the fiends, I'm lovin' it though
Makin' an abundance of dough
Runnin' the show, pumpin' blow 'till I'm numb in the soul

A child from the 80's era, you couldn't paint it clearer
Grew up with moms snortin' cocaine off a mirror
Those are all the little things that make me me

Couldn't focus my brain and blamed A.D.D.
On the contrary, Ap is like mental level
Hence the mental state rate grows exponential

But, if y'all wanna brawl, better call Paul Wall
To fix all them teeth Ap knocked outta your jaw, punk


[Chorus]