Well that's capital, loser... I snap you up by your back-pack and I school ya... So "Snapback", n' see if I'm not "Fitted" to Mac ya, like an Apple Computer!

WOOOOOOOOOWWW! And that's after writing alone...
Like thunder and lightning when he gets that microphone right in the zone...
If you want a problem? Then don't you move when I'm using the throttle...
To run you over and "Take your breath away", like a beautiful model...
Causing homicides, normally. Don't want to kill? Then that's more for me...
I go to war, socially awkward, could never fit in conformity...
Well that's capital, loser... I snap you up by your back-pack and I school ya...
So "Snapback", n' see if I'm not "Fitted" to Mac ya, like an Apple Computer!
I don't get it anymore... kids wanna follow in trends?
I shoot at your fucking frame with hollowed-in-ends, on your iPod, while you're calling your friends...
Fuck it... you're drop in the bucket to what I got...
personal punches... bring up hearses in bunches, with words that are curving your substance...
I got quite the Bravado... living life by the bottle...
Capturing lightning that you would most likely swallow...
Check out my document papers... cocky and pompous...
A savior, putting every orifice of your flesh into possible danger...
Yeah... reading the Torah, I got much wiser...
Then I lost it all when I drank a Budweiser...
Who the fuck is smart? Can suck a fart that's so up the chart
of the carbon dioxide scale you'll throw up, like cover art...
I'm the covenant of whom you speak...
Too elite... every other human on this fucking earth's been proven weak...
A champion... a crown made of titanium alloy...
My style, boy... look at your style like, "Take a look at me now!"
My book's are profound... the gospel of men...
Not even the Apostles can pretend like I'm not taking it back...
To that sacred place on the map...
And there's no space to react... I'm an atom bomb...
Who could self destruct since his dad's gone, only actually had a mom...
Think about it... that's like... 5 kids where I lived...
Mother on her 9 to five so she could buy us all kinds of shit...
So I'm looking for something I can surprise her with...
Luxury riding whips, diamonds, and other custom designer ish...

Who're are the top ten artists? Shit, there's nobody now. And if there is, and they're truly a king of this, then show me the crown!

The fuck? This is a rest stop.
Shitting on rappers. Diligent, that uh... militant cat, willing to scrap ya.
Swing with the syllables while they're still in the rafters
dodging the strong concussion of thought, which won't save them from feeling this rapture.
It's too ill with it, they're willing to ask the...
question of if... the messages kicked fit with the rest of his tiff.
I'm explicit. You questionable midgets mention a distance?
I punt ya, no perpetual limit. I'm guessing you in it.
The pendulum swings at the fence of your district... so look at me like,
"I guess he means business", no innuendo for this shit, it's real life..
You feel hyped? Then call me out.
Show em' what it's all about. Apart of a chain, like Walton's House.
You all are the same, saw your routes. I can't follow the lame
Hollowed-in, bottle of fame. Alcohol for your fuel, while you wallow in pain.
Take the next tab. You fakes address that
you're weak to me. I'm out on your drive way, finding your PCP.
You're whacked out of your mind, that's why you're speaking free.
But you'll pay for your words, and cash out once you see the fee.
I hate you funny bums. No strings attached to it..
accurate as fuck, came back to this. Like Maxwell Cassettes,
no iPod or Tablets, bitch. Back to the compacted Discs
of the late 90's, classes with 10 dollars for a mix...
of Classic Hits...yeah, that was the hassle, its...
not the same. The new revolution rots my brain, like a Zombie slaying...
Out of body, can't get with the songs they're playing...
Now, it's all about... Rihanna and Lady Gaga's making headlines in Paparazzi pages!
The new general Natzi races of copies, chasing
the media through the lobby makes this hobby take its spot, embracing
thoughts erased from the hottest stations Hip Hop's encased in.
FUCK!!!
They need to retire from this theme, the desire
to scream at these liars is like a host of files, I'm looking for my Mediafire...
Jesus, the higher they put that echelon, is like I see a Messiah
So I want to leave the game for good, like Malik from The Wire
But it keeps dragging me back like, "Gee, I need that".
Constant feed back for the keys rapped.
Holding it down, like a Baptism when there's no one around.
Showing the child, no mercy in the lake
telling him: "You're going to drown".
Who're are the top ten artists? Shit, there's nobody now.
And if there is, and they're truly a king of this, then show me the crown!
Ha. Nothing there, you're fronting, queer.
You suckers swear you're at the Bay, I'm a Buccaneer... with new stuff to tear.
Out you're fucking rear!
Believe me, I'm crazy.
It's like the planted the seeds of Shady with me, as a Baby.
Then left me to grieve where I wouldn't been seen, till the 80's...