| I’m gettin the ahh, I’m gettin the ahh from the |
| weak shit that I hear no lyrical styles come near |
| to the one who boasts like Buck |
| On the mic truck, cuz I never gave a fuck |
| I hate the weak shit, man it be fuckin with my soul |
| I peeped how radio be trying to take control |
| Tellin me to get a little lighter on my lyrics |
| But if it ain’t real on the mic I can’t feel it |
| Straight from my bloodstream, I pump finesse |
| Nevertheless, hold it in your chest like stress |
| Rhythm and blues style is not in my environment |
| And when I «slowww dowwwn» it’s time to take a hit |
| But until I fall off, call off your set |
| and if you never knew me, then you never knew wreck |
| Look inside of the mind and see |
| Cause you might be trapped with a nigga like me |
| I feel like I’m trapped in the motherfuckin cave |
| To the rhythm I’m a slave, lookin in my grave |
| Jugulur vein bustin out my neck, you see the rage |
| I move when I groove cuz I’m into, the stage |
| of the Buckshot, black, I’m bringin it back |
| to the roots, like Timberland boots, home on my rack |
| And I don’t give a FUCK what you say |
| Commercial rap, get the gun clap, day after day |
| Niggaz don’t play on the d low, kid you know my steelo |
| I roll on more niggaz than cee-lo |
| We might just bumrush your set |
| Me AND my niggaz on the real mic check |
| Like my nigga Smif gettin swift on the gift |
| Then I toss another lesson to my nigga Wessun |
| And my nigga Five from the tribe of Moon |
| Pass the Crooked I, bitch yo pass the boom |
| Whenever you’re ready I’ma take you into the stage |
| Deep in the mind of a slave |