[Intro]

Warm it up, real quick

Let's warm it up: microwave

Shit 'bout to get hot: Summer

I don't know if they ready for this: virgin

Yo

[Verse 1]

The bars show you mad struggle

Along with detailed scriptures of my past trouble

That’s why they try to keep me quiet with a bad muzzle

Can’t take the same leaps and bounds as me

When they lack the hustle and the calf muscle

Words from a legend speaking from the heart

Said, if you going to war, weaponry is a start

Do your dirt all by your lonely, let it be in the dark

You givin' birds bread then let it be in the park, Joey

Tip me wrong, many mourn when the semi’s warm

'Bout my bread, so I spot it if a penny’s gone

And I’ll bet, learned that from the Nets

If you tryna be a billionaire get rid of any Thorn

'Cause you’ll get fucked if they shoot you, emptied on

It’s just they way of making a mini porn

I watch my haters get sick

It’s that hard living in my shadow, get off my silhouette’s dick

Tailor-made suits, double breast fit

Set trip, get your name on the next clip

Sometimes before you can add, gotta minus (Talk to 'em)

Some of y’all don’t get the math or the science

Means I’m aiming for wealth, some say

Sky’s the limit, I say that's short-changing yourself

So uh-uh, uh-uh, y’all ain't the same as me

I get bread, you lose Jackson’s: Jermaine Dupri

BS about Joe, refrain it, please

You’ll just untame a beast, he just became unleashed

All who defamed are deceased, so the topic should pass

An assembly line would show 'em I'm not in they class (Oh)

Had some a'ight jams, them fans came and left

And you ain’t know they was one night stands

Let 'em testify, witnesses, hearin' is indicative

Niggas is sick of it, let it go, get a grip

[Chorus]

I think I’m Sug’ Ray, Ali

Joe Fraiz’, who the fuck gon' stop me?

He think he Holyfield, Iron Mike

Fo’ fifth let him feel what the iron like

I think I’m Mayweather, Pacquiao

Screamin', "Money ain’t a thing!" Pullin' stacks out

I think I’m Cotto, Shane Mosley

Slow death to anyone who oppose me

[Verse 2]

Son (Sun), I’ma always shine, yellow

Think I’m about to get up on that? Hell no

Long as shorty keep my tip hard: shell toe

Certain I’m a stick-to-the-script: velcro

Springers, fakers, think that they just prospered

Without being linked to the majors (Uh)

My only response is the finger to haters

Watch it get ugly, Mbenga, Lakers

So when they ask how I feel about hip-hop

I sighed and replied, "Take a lucky guess"

Just being sincere, I ain’t talking pioneers

When I tell dudes I don’t think that Dougie’s fresh

Used to roll through the trenches, slept on cold benches

Holds on my expenses, smoke 'til I was senseless

Now the flow’s so relentless

Fuck CDs, should be sold in syringes (Oh)

I can’t explain it, they love the sound

Subtle with the pound, you don’t want trouble, clown (Here we go)

If I’m at the bar ordering a couple rounds

I’m in between two birds like a double down

Where I’m from they cock and shoot like it’s all logical

Send a lot of work to them hospitals

Dress the AK up 'fore they pop at you

Handguns, night scope, call it the Chopper suit

So if you tired of all the wack dudes, call me in

Rap historian, slash my class’s Valedictorian

Your future’s at a stand still

Must be a flat on that Delorean

I tried tellin' 'em, "Concede, the deal's closed"

They disagreed, they believed that they real close

Tough guys turn talk show like Steve Wilko’s

Scream "Fuck 'em!" Eat dildos with each pill dose

All the rap dudes they got highly regarded

Tell me they psyche might be slightly retarded

Nowadays before the shows, I buy me a cartridge (Uh)

Though them phony ass dudes ain't likely to start with

Peepin' how the vets wanna stop me (Put your)

Money where your mouth is: Ted DiBiase

And he won’t be able to reach for a biscuit

With O’s on his head like a B-More Fitted

Uh, black hoody and black tux

Tearin' stacks up, with a model and her rack tucked

Gettin' my Extreme Makeover on

Knock that bitch down and build her back up (Oh)

Uh, think twice before you act up (Oh)

Around flames, wrong time to be gassed up (Oh)

You never heard blowin' smoke from a grass hut

Nine times out of ten, it’ll be your last puff

[Chorus]

I think I’m Sug’ Ray, Ali

Joe Fraiz’, who the fuck gon' stop me?

He think he Holyfield, Iron Mike

Fo’ fifth let him feel what the iron like

I think I’m Mayweather, Pacquiao

Screamin', "Money ain’t a thing!" Pullin' stacks out

I think I’m Cotto, Shane Mosley

Slow death to anyone who oppose me

[Outro]

Haha

Talk to 'em (Joey!)

Uh

Uh, uh, uh (Uh)