Lyrics
Beretta bucking straight in your ear, the shots clear
Got as my witness, my word is my bond. Let’s get
It on, write my life down, reflect it through song. Running
This shit like a marathon. Just getting warm, hotter
Than summer sex, wet like the sweat from my balls
See, before I buy Smirnoff or Christian Dior
I’ll be busting nuts while your knees scraping the floor
Pick you up and drive you off and have ‘em cleaning your drawers
Had a wife. She did me trife. I ain’t trusting these whores
«No More Drama» in my life like Mary J. Blige
I’m a king. My entourage got to have new cards. My fam
Do music large like it was out the barge
Livewire inspired by the niggas in charge
Fly, I’m nasty with the shit I be on. You just
A peon. My name’s in neons, embraced for eons
Y’all can’t touch him
Yo, don’t touch
The dial—I'ma keep it in tune. Niggas is gassed like
Balloons, showing their ass like baboons
I don’t wet it like Gremlins and chickens
Pretending they don’t suck cock. Now what the blood clot?
Heart stop. I’m in the vein with my art
Resume pumping, I’m thumping. Stainless, I’m sharp
And, in the dark, I’m sight. I’m like a hawk in the
Night, spitting sparks for light to guide you through the flight
Like Mike Tyson fights, I don’t bark. I bite
I don’t talk that hype. I just do it like
Mikey. Might be one of the most vivid since
Spike Lee. Hype bleed, the crowd gets in it
Turn it out like the lights when we finish
Finally, we did it. Now ask, «Who's the illest?»
Y’all can’t touch him
Never I claim to be the best, got respect for the vets
Though I stay on your set like video cassettes, and the
Mediocracy leaves me bored. Spit
Freestyle cinema, produce the Scar
Take different avenues and open new doors, but this
Time, I’ma rhyme using all metaphors
Girl jock like Shaft, blow brains like gats
Release mainstream cream like this rap and
She can’t save face like Mike Jack
Son is a fag. That’s all he know about crack
You over here on some tracks. I’ll oversee like
A MAC. Hungry like turkey, spread like herpes, attack
Back to basics, y’all niggas still faking that wack shit. Head for
The hills ‘cause we only letting out classics, nigga
Y’all can’t touch him