/Sparkle City, Eight-Six-Four, Ya’ll play-list bores/ No Forbes, dirty south for you fake ass whores/ Industry bitches gettin’ pimped by your madams and misters/ Old white men eating with me is something I can’t picture/ Spit fifths of liquor, no chaser/ Out like vapors in the wind, can’t see me, why even pretend/ My worst day compared to your best year is still tragic/ My flow stop traffic you nameless lil’ bastard/ Bring semi’s to a screeching halt/ Funny, couldn’t tell you a thing my teacher’s taught/ Ease your walk, kids need to slow your roll/ Your not bold, you showed your hand, now fold/ Flow bully, run your underwear up the pole/ Ya’ll sing like Keisha, I’m Nat King Cold/Got it sewn with a Nasir Jones/ You Wayne stans past curfew, gon’ head and Phone Home/ Rap’s became Star Wars, It’s the Attack Of the Clones/ Spit Xanax Bars, I’m constantly zoned/ Your head ain’t big enough to sit in my throne/ You five bullets short of a six-shot clip/ You alotta things homie, but you just not this/ I hear alotta talk, lotta lip, whole lotta shit/ But this chess, not checkers, and ur not a problem bitch/ This for G-Rap, Kane, and Marley/ Rap today just makes me laugh hearty/ Hardly impressed, ya’ll gassed up on cess/ Claim you got next, well tell me who came first/ Or tell me who is Kool Herc?/ That’s why the best of you was a stain on mommy’s pillow/ Why I’ll gleefully bury you neath the willows/