I wait to see your skull vibrate
when I bury the hatchet
I hope you catch it
I'll attach it
to his focus when I broke his head in half
feel the wrath on my behalf
I drop math
and english
leaving you squeamish
then I squish your wish
you're all phucken dreamers
no time for tiddlywinks if your tities is pinks
then you are white and I'm not the right man (not for me)
but you can blow pipe and my style is so tight
I be carvin' mc's when I'm starvin'
you little chunks of punks that I dunks in my coffee
get off me I'm not your softie
but you will call through your breath to him,
def to them
silly broads, I phuck them then I chuck them
in the river
without a liver,
then I donate to science, 'cause I'm a giver
the mysterious clearly busts brains with my brawn
ask Sean
Cassidy about how I trash mc's
on the daily, Alex Haley had to write about it
darlin but it's true
get a clue
I'm tellin you the truth you'll be toothless
then the boots gets smoked like they on fire,
I desire
like Salt N Pepa I'll phuck a fat heifer,
like I was Fritz the Cat
and she admits to fat,
so I'm movin' removin wackness from my stratosphere
if I thought that that was near. . .
[CHORUS:]
"Still bet that you can harm me, but you don't alarm me..."
You're just a test tub baby
you can't fade me
but hey, G your style is lazy
boy you're crazy
losin' it
check out my fusion kit
it's welding rhymes and propelling
swelling,
getting bigger
getting niggas in hea
