I'm pokin' moms like gas catchin'

Catchin' flak from these riff-raffs

And backle tackle hacky-sack, don't slack

And listen to the not whack

I got deadlier verses than Mortal Kombat

Yeah, you dudes messin' with the wrong cat

Say a few words and homies lookin' like a wombat

And my crew's tighter than a fuckin' thong strap

Waiters on the mic, that makes a [???] pact

Cause I'm packed too, I ain't jestin'

I bang women like a Smith & Wesson

And got five bangers left in rotation

And "Blam!" sticking hands up from whole nations

I get low with a bridge in the cove

1987, and the stereo drones

Tradin' more paper than the old Dow Jones

The beat's sweeter than a box of Honeycombs

Alright, someone's starter's shinin' through the night

I'ma' shining star over the boards like Lite-Brite

Put a [pressure?] on his cup and pencils, make the diamonds right

But you know I ain't goin' out without a hard fight

This beef, like a butler with a knife in his back

[It sure be rural?] I assassinate the track

I'm eatin' MC's in size by the pack

While I smoke a bag of meth

Then I smoke a bag of crack

My fist will get us [???] like a tissue

And I gotta' lot of problems on my 100th issue

So subscribe to my articles and fan letters

That be more profound than your average yellow-belly-bed-wetters

So go ahead and shout "Fire" down the hall

And while you cover your wrists, she cover my ba-alls

I'm an entrepreneur, enterprise calls

Wayne rappin' the all handicap stalls