"You bunch of lame, disgusting, rubberneck perverts" - movie sample
[Intro: King Just]
Killah Hill, we back, 10304, back to settle the score
His Royal High, King Just, you ain't ready for it
Shaolin, baby, do it right this time up
[King Just]
Aiyo, ain't no rapper you know can go toe to toe
And if so, yo they lying on the low
Damn dirty shame, I put work in the game
Old Eddie Kane that make your main rapper look lame
Fame wasn't worth the course for what I brought
Fifth borough, stay thorough, Shaolin, New York
Fly walk shit, Ted DiBiase handle
Distribute soup, like my name was Melvin Campbell
Rock a banjo in a western country, bop disco
Straight cowboys wilding out to heya hoe
With a ten gallon hat and six shooters going 'bow bow'
No where to go though, you in the smoking section
Like a compass with no dial, no direction
Lonely child with parent, who need attention
I'm benching more than your brain lift just
Scared straight, shit, I leave 'em straight scared stiff
I'm Mister Good Time, but it seems they wanna take mine
I guess that's why muthafuckas do hate crimes
Shine like the savage son, I ain't the average one
I'll attack like Atila the Hun
Move rhymes like ya'll niggas move jums
And stay getting buns without giving up the ones
All hail son, you ain't ready for the invasion
Underground sound that pa-pow in the basement
Replacement, starts here, no fame, no fortune, no gear
No fair, we hold it down here, clear
Electrical shock voltage, this raise my modern soldiers
Or watch 'em, hawk like a vulture
Bald eagle Knieval, getting drunk at the Regal Beagle
That's the rendesvous cookoo poo, so do you, I said no, do me
Six months later, bitch winding up a groupie
Keep a hooptie, and if I'm the shit, then I'm dookie
What LP for? A secure life whoopie
Haduken, niggas can't do what I'm doing
Til you at your own album release, and niggas booing
I'm moving your career with, one dart here
Put you on the back of the bus with no car fare
Best they trash rappers, smash you with the goggles
Read the sign right there, yeah, 'beware of starving artists'
I got this, covered like, New York Under
With so much bread that'll make a nigga wonder
How I made it to be the greatest and drop the latest
On some Star and Bucwild shit, kid, I love them haters
Faders like the hut or exclusive cuts
Balance a Heineken glass on that big ass butt
Strut like Mr. Wonderful, Paul Orndorff
It's a domino effect, they gon' all fall off
Soft like two big boobs, on your tube
Mr. West Indian'll cook us all without food
Rude like Ravishing Rick, the Mystics'll have the
Flavorest flavor, the kid ballistics
Rip this, like the track was on me
BK brick everyday, you still buying four G
Cross me, and I hang that ass alive
I'm big head of the company, hours is 9 to 5
And have you repeat it, just in case you ain't hear it
Get on some bullshit, and still drop you for the touch terrace
You in the zoo, you think I can be touched by you, you & you
Stop sniffing glue, whatevers that you do
Boo, I got you, scared to death, you need to quit them cigarettes
You ain't got enough breath left to test the wreck
And it's profess', I suggest, that you rest
Retire, before I set the stage on fire
You Jim Carrey rappers is all 'liar, liars'
Oscar the Meyer this, Oliver Twist'll
Have that shit roll before that ass can take the shit
Shit...
