(Bad mutha)
[VERSE 1]
Turn up the radio better yet the phonograph
And I'ma school the suckers who don't know the half
I'm not a legend I'm real and actual
Bite my rhymes I get mad and come after you
I don't front or pretend cause that's imaginary
I get funky with the use of vocabulary
I'm more deadlier than a bottle of cyanide
When I dig in my brain and say a fly rhyme
I might bust and say a little somethin
Get the party pumpin, yo, that ain't nothin
So don't bore me, I've been naughty
Even as a kid people said: "Look at shorty"
Back in the days I had much attention
Speak of competition - man, listen
Even then I've coulda been a funky star
At the age of 12 I was rhymin on them monkey bars
A little kid with the art of poetry
Nice for my age, but nobody noticed me
Nowadays I tell it like it is
That makes my skill different from her or his
I sport my skills on a F.M. frequency
Lettin people know you better not sleep on me
I'm known as a smooth cool brother
A funky technician, call me a (bad mutha)
[VERSE 2]
I play MC's like a game of Mario Brothers
I hold my own, plus I can carry another's
Rhymes I make strong and watch em take form
On a sucker who steps out his face wrong
I'm the MC to fear and run from
Shockin so much you think I'm usin a stun gun
I hold the title cause I'm the cool champ
If rap was money you'd be rated as food stamp
You try to boast and toast, you go by what name?
You can't get with Finesse, you're just jump change
You couldn't cut it even if you had a hack-saw
You're just a rap that I laid a track for
