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MP3 2.6 MB • 128 kbps • 2:53
Lyrics
I think he lost his mind, take a look, he throwin up signs
You in the semi-finals without a single quotable line
You hopin to rhyme like you gangsta? You think that we dumb?
He ain't throwin threes, nah, I just broke his pinky and thumb
His rhymes are so old, that he writes em in stone
Packs him in his backpack and rides his bike to his home
You drop his notebook in the ocean and that shit gonna sink
He prolly rock those feather pens you gotta dip in the ink
When he writes a hot verse, and his boy wants to see
He straps a scroll to pigeon to go across the street
Man its 09, get some new rhymes, thats my solution
I've seen some of his lines in the Constitution
But lemme download his pic, man its takin a while
I'm tryna see whats good, cuz I can spot a fake in a mile
I look to the left, man, that kid ain't breakin a smile
I look to the right, DAMN, I ain't see Wird of Pley in a while
I could use his chin just to pop a bottle
And tell me why his skull looks like Papashango's
Man I told you once, Matty P, we ain't dumb
We know you got the idea for your mustache from Shang Tsung
I seen him rock a show, it was wild and pathetic
The longest line that he had was single file at the exit
They ran out so fast I coulda sworn it was a foot-race
With more Goosebumps than a 3rd grader's bookcase
So listen now, when I go and kick this clown
You'll see P's sittin down and I bet he pees sitting down
I know you hopin I touch ya,
But this round Ima need a stretch-mat like Yoga instructors
And his girl, ya, I know her on a personal basis
On our first date, I took to her for a personal facelift
And her birthday, a hotel, was gropin her breasts
For Christmas, we ran a train like the Polar Express
I'll put a hole in his chest, I can tell that this kid is frail
Cuz he ain't tryna break a sweat plus he just did his nails
And he ain't never seen a pistol or a prison bail
I'll fuck up his set like that dude did to Christian Bale
I'm smashin this geek, his fashion is weak
He prolly rock a clothing line designed by nothin but Masta P
Cuz he's the city joke, spittin with a shitty flow
Ayoo, That t-shirt of Jay-Z lips is pretty dope
But I ain't jokin, man, I'm lovin the look
but I've seen more complex lines in a coloring book
And I ain't mean, I ain't tryin to hurt
But what I mean is "Blaze mics like Great Whites" would be the line of his verse
I'm tired of this jerk, You ain't hard to jump
Exposin Pee on national TV sorta like Forrest Gump
So this your last round, but this cat can pray
You'll leave Mass with a dot on your head like Ash Wednesday
