Awwww....yeaaaah...
Who is the man with the hats with the snaps
droppin' the raps with the truth to the youth that's bustin' the caps?
Who could it be? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a tree?
No it's me: Capital A capital S capital E.
Boomin' like thunda strikin' like lightnin'.
Welcome to my Slaughtahouse I know it's frightenin'.
I'm hittin' em over the head with lyrical styles like a bottle.
My foot's on the pedal, my hand is on the throttle.
I'm turbo-boostin' from Houston to Vegas.
You want us to quit, but shit, you can't make us.
There's too much money to make, money to get, money to earn.
My pockets are on "E", and I want money to burn.
I got GUSTO, plus yo, I'm zeekin' 'em.
Rollin' with L.D., Ken, Eyce, and Neek and 'em.
Phat tracks, I'm freakin' 'em, word to your auntie.
It's written all over your face, I know you want me.
Scientifical mathematical war.
Rhymes and beats harder than Trigonometry 4.
So open your books to page one, and I'll show you how it's done,
it's the roughneck kid without a gun.
I'm laughin'-- ha ha! -- it's fun to watch you weep as
you're cryin', dyin', try and figure out the Jeep Ass
Nig-guh, bigger and better and badder than ever before,
hittin' with hardcore lyrical calesthenics that make me sore.
And the shower of fire, supplier of the real,
get with the program and I'm slammin' like Shaquille.
Right on your head, do what I said, backin' me up is the D:
(Lord Digga:)You must be crazy if you wanna mess with me.
Cuz I am not the one, kid.
Oh no, he ain't the one, son.
The shank in my sock will chop you like an onion.
So Boom, head
