| Yeah, Mic Club* |
| Aiyyo we got off to a cold start, let me warm shit up |
| You now listening to Can-I-Bus |
| Yo why would you do that? Your view too black |
| You must have smoked somethin’I used to call pool hall crack |
| Put a suit on you still look whack |
| Somewhere givin’orders from confined quarters, handcuffed to a fag |
| Played the street too much, shoulda been in the lab |
| Now you sad, mad at who you was fussin’with last |
| Life’s a bitch ain’t it? Smile, it ain’t nothin to laugh |
| Rose hell at show’n’tell, brought a gun to your class |
| Keep the herb on the dash cause I’m servin''em fast |
| Classic lyrics for that ass, cause the purpose is cash |
| Look I got a couple photos of you tryin’to showboat |
| Before my gunboat touch your throat, don’t talk |
| The microphone shark tear your bones apart |
| Spread you over your background like bogus art |
| Put the most in art, try to focus on the frozen dart |
| Cold and dark as a cobra’s heart |
| I drink the absinthe raw, no chaser |
| Madness follows me like investigators after Al’Qaeda |
| The metaphor make a voice like Lord Vader |
| If you love hip-hop, I am your saviour |
| Rip your mixtape up and still take a paycut |
| Me and you in the booth, who you think is gon’say somethin'? |
| 'Member ninety-eight when I rung those bells? |
| I’m a chip off the old block like Uncle L |
| Fuck a bootlace, I strap velcro up |
| Niggaz had gun talk, so what? They still didn’t show up |
| Fuck around with 'Bus on the mic, they got no luck |
| Other than that, I don’t really know what |