/Carolina Crocker, I come handy with chap-stick/ In case of my success, and you’re compelled to go ass kiss/ Lovelorn Records, on my pinky and brain tip/ The competition gassed up, but baby they ain’t shit/ I am not worried, and neither should you be/ I am Kool G Rap and his first piece of loose-leaf/ Heard the others rhymes, and they didn’t behoove me/ Big word, big word, this where you lose me/ Bastards, ain’t another crew in the dirty/ That deserves our distinction they just ain’t as worthy/ Holler, you heard me, flow riotous spit/ A Robert Blake Beretta with violent clip/ Mal-nourished but I flourish off the doubt they cast/ I have insatiable hunger, they ain’t amounting to scraps/ These a mountain of raps, I beg of you scale em/ I mean it’s insurmountable but who am I telling/ Big word, big word, try and keep up kids/ Hit hard, goofy name, Crocker and Butkis/ Smile but you know that I’m not to be fucked with/ If you spit dope, then when I do is pump bricks/ Bully on the beat, I’m coming for lunch pails/ And that cartoon money, that you write in your duck tales/ Bet I make magic, word to Christopher Sweeny/ And I get all in her mouth like a Mystikal beating?/ Ain’t I a stinker?/ Just fooling around, this is just how I tinker/ But I’ma stop now, lest you say that I’m rude/ Cause momma always told me never play with your food/ Indulge escapism, your entitled to that/ But reality is I haven’t a rival in rap/ So come now, your death knell, were you concede the defeat/ Big word, Big word, I mean Stephen’s a beast/