hey fuck you

which of you schnooks took my rhyme book?

look give it back you're wicky wack

with your ticky tack calls didn't touch you at all

i didn't touch your hand man you know its all ball

you sold a few records but don't get slick

'cause you used a corked bat to get those hits

you've been in the game

your career is long

but when you break it down you've only got 2 songs

mc's are like clay pigeons and i'm shootn' skeet

i just yell pull and mmm drops the beat

you people call yourselves mc's but you're garbage men

takin' out the trash when you pull out the pen

and if you don't like then hey fuck you!

i read about you up on page 6

they was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed

now talk about your face now don't get pissed

but i suggest you see a dermatologist

i keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak

it's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak

i've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex

'cause i've got more rhymes than carl sagan's got turtlenecks

your rhymes are fake like a canal street watch

you're hearing me and you're like oh my god its sasquatch!"