[Verse 1: Copywrite]

We’re wild like broke

Rwandan Africans who hate crackers. Y’all are two fag

Leftover open condom packages, the gay wrappers/rappers

You leasing Bentleys doesn’t in the least impress me

You’re balling, but you’re straight coochie, Lisa Leslie, huh!

Pete’s a beast, no need to test me or God, I was

Walking on water, and mother-effers thought they ain’t see the jet ski

So remove me from the remix ‘cause, dead or alive

I’m top five like a movie number prefix

Groupies wanna see this, so the roofies and the tea mix

Cut my ex off ‘cause she poopied on my penis

Got a OZ to blaze up back at home. I’m Hurricane

Katrina, I blow trees and break up happy homes, I

Break up with A-cups who may cut. That’s if domes

Cracking though. If not, I’ll get twat back at home

Got a one-man army, it’s me, no army fatigues

Schizophrenic squad of MCs swallowing E

You go to the Goodwill to window-shop ‘cause you’re poor

But like mall security, I’ma/I’m a cop from the store

Leave the place with a G to waste just for kicks. You don’t

Buy a fucking thing, you go just for kicks. Been rocking

Nike Airs on my feet since Will Smith was singing

“Nightmare On My Street” like, “Yeah, I like these”

Fight fair? I might tear your white tee, pull out a hand grenade

While you stand amazed right there beside me

You’ll be still awake but unable to feel your face

Put you fags in an all-white cast like Will & Grace

Rehabilitate? No one sold me nothing

You could blame CVS I’m on Robitussin

While you and your broke friends keep going through coke binges

‘Til your wallets and pockets infinity, no ends, smoking that

That made Elvis the King. You don’t

Suck the pelvis, then… yeah, yeah, we keep killing ‘em, and

Sway & Tech, you know how your kids are feeling him, yeah

Real hip hop in the place, we still evolve

[Verse 2: Copywrite]

They say he’s very

Arrogant, but the air they’re inhaling in isn’t there to sniff

Dare to whiff, and I’m tearing the air to get from where it is

There’s a chick inhaling, I’m tearing it through her pair of tits

There’s a kid, my fist is impaling him through his pair of ribs

From a kamikaze, crazy bomber, drama like Shady’s mama

Fucking with bitches ugly as Biggie’s baby’s mama

And I stay mismatched to the socks

Bitch laughed, said my name’s dispatched to the cops, stitched

Patch on my crotch reads, “Kiss me, I’m Irish,” my

Clique be the flyest, don’t quiz me, I’m biased, but try us

And lose the cocky smile. Who could stop me now

When I’m right on the money like the Illuminati owl?

If I’m off, a DJ mixed my acapella wrong, my mozzarella’s long

Enough to buy the rights to every Rocafella song

I’m lying, but not when I’m rhyming, my stock is hella long

Too hot to mail a song, the mailman said he thought I mailed a bomb

Rain, sleet, snow or hail, I’m smoking well

Granted, you’d think I was Spanish how well I rolled an L

To where they meet it or see the chocha, I’m living la vida loca

I’m Peter the chiba smoker, no reason to cease the dolja

Breathing a leaf, Jesus, a seed grows from beneath the roses

That sweet aroma could break Pete old cold from deepest coma

But know the skills on overkill ‘til I reach the reaper’s quota

Put him out of business then hire him for cheap to clean the sofa

And sweep the bones if I bolster, flows well-written

No help given, I’m self-driven like a chauffeur

Still spitting that crazy shit. You don’t like it?

You could suck a fat baby’s dick while its dad babysits

O-Dot