Hook:

It's been about a year. And we still ain't find out. Who you dissing in your rhymes, and what all of yo lines bout. But I can keep a secret. I promising not to leak it. Tell me you who you got beef. Who you got beef with?


Since I got everybody watching me, I'll let em know what time it is. WAIT. Those are last year's rhymes again. Cats hear that I would make a rap peer ottoman out of em at this pacing, so they racing to the chopping trend...


But we gon speed it up later for haters not convinced that I could get as prominent with my copying N9ne and SwizZz.

When I was young, I stuck my tongue into a socket, while bumping some Pac and everything I'm dropping has been shocking since.


This is trill dominant skill. Feel the power that builds cowardice at will, for real, which style will he wield? Still got Lil tolerance. How does it feel (Phil), doctoring wills? Is it ironic how it isn't shocking I'm ill/eel?


EW...what a sick flow, bill. It kills like a shotty cuz it KICKS BACK like it CHILLS. Told you that I've been/bin cold, Buttah! But competition shutters/shudders cuz I WINDOWS. And you can tell I'm REAL when the clip rolls. THUNDER (ADD THUNDER?)

They wanna block my rain/reign. But an umbrella can't change weather or stop the king. Yall skate on thin ice. I serve, chop and dice like Wolfgang PUCK. My FLOW/FLOOR colder than a hockey rink.


I quit playing. Put my stick up like robbing banks. A ballhoggin alcoholic with the shots I take. All these rappers out lying/outline, but without my TRACE, yall don't have a [S]CENT and you TRAIL(IN) the FIRST PLACE.


That's that wordplay dog. Get em in the worst way. Yall split em on their birthday. Hit em on a Thursday aw, when a killa thirsty. I can feel it when a spitter isn't worthy of a little mercy caught in the middle of a Merce-des Benz. Ends...Shook em with a earthquake. Then... I get adrenaline and murk a first date. Pause.

That means I'm taking them out but I'm making it count. Anybody want to take me away to the house where the jacket is straight. With a zipper in the back. Not making a sound. And I'm racing in place to the bank but I ain't finna take what I made in my lane cuz when I get a little bit of change in the game, I'm changing my name ain't nothing they can do about...it.


The ground shifts when they pound 6 ten round clips through your foul stenched mouth without a miss. Hold up. That would mean that the casualties have to FOLD UP as shots begin to fall out the MAGAZINES like a POSTER. Actually, all my battling scenes over. Quit asking me if I'm still having beef with THE JOKERR. My pride was the battery, fueling the bad in me, but for closure, I'll have PASSIONATE MC FORCE CHOKE YA! woah.


They can't believe what they hear in their speakers. But tearing the peace is apparently what they're preparing to keep us from setting hit records like Derek Jeter. You're just a paraplegic staring from the highest pair of seats in the bleachers.

Show me my rival. I have none. And beating me's a long shot, especially when you fail to own any rifles. That handgun could blast. I'm so fast, Im liable to suppress the cartridge and make the barrel charges IGNITE YOU. Goodnight, fools.