[Verse 1: Mike "Anonymous" Pruitt]

Yo, when the beat's hot I cheap shot fillin' my brim again [?]

It's all real from my hand down to my Timberlands

Rhymes are like the mailman, always deliverin'

And I'll see the snow, you know, I'll float assemblin'

Hold the mic like a gun, are you suckas surrendin'?

Say your little rhymes but you can't remember the

Champion of sound, so you can crown my king again

Vigors wanna spar with the arts to bring 'em in

You've been to jail, keep it real, skills is minimum

Leave you caught up in the space time continuum

It still sucks, with Project Move you in flux

You're just middlemen- won't even consider them a little bit

[Verse 2: Raheem Jamal]

Fresh whether live on stage or in stereo

Bang when we do our thang, slang lyrical

You talk the same old game... typical

We speak the most unique, too difficult

Step up talkin' shit might cripple you

Special parking space made just for you

Talkin' 'bout real MCs, nobody mentions you

Like a camera with no flash I can't picture you

How the hell you got fans or people feelin' you?

Wrote a whole rhyme for that: Project Material

Pay my dues, refuse to lose to you imbeciles

Monkeys see, monkeys do the same identical

Mic check, money sign, quite sunny dialect

Live wire text, hip-hop hot pepper step

Rock roll avalanche dance romance step

Hemp rep, y'all are vamp, revamp my freelance

Excellent dap weed champ, Mr. Fancy Pants

Bougie B-boy stance, snooty face

Hoods [?] only hate today, get out my way

Superman ego, I'll leave it bound away

[Interlude]

I get antsy when I [?]

[?]

I got a smile on my face

Laugh, I heard it happened before!

[Verse 3: Moe Pope]

I ain't rich but I'm a king

So leave your diamonds and fancy things, God

I work two jobs to feed my child

I rip on beats to feed my style

I don't sell drugs or drink Cristal

But respect the girls shakin' in the alley

I ain't happy 'til the crowd goes wild, buddy

I'm lovely and I walk with a swag, you know

You're plain, you're not too original

Uh-huh, and when the blood gets spilled

Another brother from a neighborhood who just got killed

I don't wear rings, I got bills

Food for thought, I rhyme for meals, go

Niggas'll pop [?], cause I got no skills (x2)