Yeah, yeah
  Fuck all these niggaz
  You know what I'm talkin' about Wino
  Yeah, yeah, yeah
  Two minutes and twenty-one seconds of funk
  and I ain't no punk
  That's right, that's right
    A tisket a tasket
  that's all you ask it
  Snap your cd and drop the pieces in your casket
  Like little Jack Horna', I'm still bendin' cornas'
  buckin' shots on your block, I'm sippin' on Corona's
  Uh, your McDonald had a farm wit' a six-fo on suicide
  sittin' in the barn wit' no alarm
  Straight up collected it, cool and calm
  crowbar in my hand and my skeleton brick still works like a charm
  Who's the rawest?
  My shit is flawless
  Had to be passin' out bruises,
  lacerations and broken jawses
  Emcees wanna floss you better understand who's the boss
  before I do a Michael Jackson and "Cut your shit off!"
  Part of the penitentary still, penetratin' your grill
  I keep on keepin' it right, while you keep on keepin' it real
  I'll bring the treble and the bass to delapatate your waist
  Coolio's on the case, get yo hoe out my face, fool
  Lodi Dodi, I don't know karate, but I know a razor
  and none of y'all can't fade me
  I know you wanna try to play me
  and busta's wanna playa hate me
  I'm one of the dopest niggaz out I
  guess that's why they hate me
  Cause I slang hits like niggaz slang cavi
  I remain like khakis, I guess that's why they mad at me
  On a record you might outgat me
  but you can't outrap me
  my shit is fatta'
  and yo shit need a little bit mo batta'
  Freestyle in unrestricted manner or method
  Free funk text readily selected, so check it
  Uh, ?dip diver?, socializer, I've been rockin'
  these motherfuckin' microphones since nineteen seventy-niner,
  and by the time that this little nappy head nigga retire
  I'ma be at the ripe ol' age of forty-eight or forty-niner
  My shit is wise, CPT M.C. for hire
  my name ain't Rick James but I'll burn your ass with a fire
  So, what's your desire baby love?
  Is it hands wrapped around mics
  or fingers wrapped around triggas?
  Eitha' way it go I'm dumpin' and I'm dippin'
  still tennis shoe pimpin', 40 Thevz in position
  Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum, now nigga I'm a giant
  and yo ass is like Jack,
  but yo magic beans is wack
  Skills is what you lack
  I'm like a Benz, you ain't even like Cadillac
  you mo like a Regal
  I'ma pit bull, and you's a Beagle
  I'm set to strangle hangin' emcee's at all angles
  as their legs start to dangle,
  dance around everybody like Mr. Bo Jangles
  Los Angeles, Compton, Long Beach, and Carson Hawthorne
  livin with the Watts
  I'm sendin' out shout outs
  I used to drink Ol' Gold
  now I just stroll
  straight to the ?exit? section of my neighborhood liquor store
  Huh, and you know what make me laugh, bitch?
  Even your mama want my autograph, autograph, autograph,
  autograph, autograph