Hand me a ‘nade, beam me up and land me in space
I’ma sit on top of the world and spit on Brandy & Mase
I’m more than ill, scarier than a white person trapped in a room with Lauryn Hill
Human horror film, but with a lot funnier plot
And people will fill me ’cause I’ma still be the mad rapper whether I got money or not
As long as I’m on pills and I got plenty of pot
I’ll be in a canoe paddling, making fun of your yacht
But I would like an award
For the best rapper to get 1 mic in The Source
And a wardrobe I can afford
Otherwise I might just end up back striking at Ford
And you wonder what the hell I need more Vicodin for?
Everybody’s pissing me off
Even the No Limit tank looks like a middle finger sideways
Flipping me off
No wonder I’m a grave danger to my health
Why else would I k** you to jump in the grave and bury myself?
Are you afraid of a blade made of a razor with aids blood
Dripping from it ripping your stomach up from the waist up?
You talk a lot of junk but you was never ill though
I’m strong enough to beat you to dead with a feather pillow
Tipped over some cows just for joke and a laugh
Jumped up choked a giraffe snapped his neck and broke it in half
Waging Wars, went up stage and sprayed cage with agent orange
And whipe my a** with his page in source
The demon is here I’m steaming this year
I rip Mystical’s voicebox out and scream in his ear
It’s not a gimmick trick it’s an image I live it
Give a damn I don’t know what a damn is to give it
And I don’t think this guy is well, I’m high as hell
I beat you with a life cat when I’m swinging him by he’s tail
I’ll freaking, I’ll freaking
Laying your nuts on a dresser, just a nutsack by himself and bang dem stuffs with a spiked bat
Cut ya neck off and glue your head right back and leave you like that
You just triggered a prick who just mixed liquor who’s itching and to leave you disfigured and stiffer than Chris-topher
Reeves I was teeting with strep troath when you’re mother was breastfeeding and gave it a flesh-eating disease
I’m ill and I’m taking a hammer and beating his knees and walk trough South Central LA bleeding in jeans
Flashin back to being shot and repeatin the scenes
On how you just got smoked, and if you do live
You’ll be too scared to tell it, like a Biggie and ‘Pac joke