[Verse 1: Chuuwee]

Check it, what's up with all this boredom?

You fresh to death, I'm Post Mortem
The Jordan of recordin',thug poet did the score
It's like the '93 Bulls champion %#@! I be endorsin'

I get these women wet, they bring me gifts I call em dolphins
The flow is off the coast, I'm sure of it like where I'm walkin'
With the sand between my toes so get the $#&@ up off my dorsal fin

Coastin' doors open in that suicide with dro and wind
Inhalin' never chokin' on that buddha blessed, I'm golden, %#@!
This rappin' %#@! I hold it like it's holstered

I'm off the wall like hatin' ^!$$%s snatchin' down my posters
I'm up and down the city like a $#&@in' roller coaster
You best to put that offer on the table like a coaster

My management legit, she handle %#@! like she supposed to
And TUS will murder any ^!$$% that approach us
I kick a style like Jackie, Jet, and Chuck Norris the coldest

Still I'm hot as Pensacola when my pencil get to rollin' ^!$$%
Fill me with liquor watch me start a drunken rage
And write a thousand words a minute on somebody else's page

Then sell it for a million to some wack ^!$$%s and lames
And still be killin' %#@! with half the %#@! I wrote in seventh grade
They burn me like a blunt, I love when my %#@! get played

You need to P90X your rhymes you weak as seven days
You speak they don't applaud
I spit and turn the stage into a rave and shut the venue down like fire marshals say

The Prince of Sacramento; on my hierarchy phase
Cut the joggin' before I put you out like trash on garbage day
Or a small kitchen flame, I douse you ^!$$%s fires

You ^!$$%s lyric liars, my ^!$$%s vivid writers
I light myself on fire until I'm hot like Richard Pryor
You wack as %#@! at this, go get a grip, go get some pliers

You see me on the fliers, I'm the lyricist for hire
And I'm pickin' ^!$$%s off like scopin' hostiles from my sniper..
Bow!