Steve Buscemi: “You know what this? It's the world's smallest violin.”
It's like this when my mic hits your scalp like nightsticks
[And mites bit] so I can turn on the light switch
Do you mind [with] my rhyme shit?
Create a climate that's timeless and climb cliffs
Obstacles become goals
Thanks to impossible flows
The ranks are my [apostles who grow]
Why you posture for gold?
You perpetrate for platinum
Serve the fake for satisfaction
Resurrect
For respect
With my mic check
Don't write checks my ass can't cash
If Hip Hop's dead then I'm a necrophiliac
Digging out backs and feeling tracks when I rack
Full Metal Jacket rapid [tacks]
Stanley Kubrick with two clicks for faggots on some bullshit
My twenty-one gun salute says, “Fuck you”
Have you fools swinging from your neck like truck jewels
I play the background
My rap sounds lay the smackdown on you whack clowns
With pen hits
Blending with tremendous
Vengeance, sentence, weapons
Implemented with aggression
Just to teach a lesson
That Alaska's a bastard
Whose genetic patterns spelled backwards spells disaster for the masses
It takes forty seconds to percolate my sensation
Reduce the [census mention]
In the state I meant to mingle
Case and passions are a bliss
Special [shripulation]
Split if the issues react
[Thought the boy] inverted
Up you, Mr. Wizard, tissue paper
Situated
Systematic
Pistol-packing
Crystal-cracking
Mental-lacking
False picture painting
Second going on third generation imitation
Soon enough, it'll be disintegrated
With the [ syntom ] crates
[Hand golf], milk carton, missing children
Kissing [buildings]
Listen pilgrim
[Let's bark]
Plenty fill
In the dark
Many will
Trends start
And they will
And it kills my ears
When I listen to them
[I'm dissin' fluid]
All ya wan
