Covering the baseline, this snow flake’s disgusting

Falling on your ear drum as I donate the punches

The weather man on wax that obeys the drum kit

If flows are like water, I boat race percussion

The track is like a white girl, I O.J production

Yes I am explosive, a propane combustion

Blowing up the booth, as I showcase eruptions

What do I do? Hoes say ‘construction’

This ‘fella’s too ‘good’, at profane discussions

His game is futuristic once he locates a pumpkin

Chain is too terrific, a soul mate and husband

If a dame is bootielicious, ‘cause my bone game is stunning

 ‘In it’…more than the blokes say in London

This lone ranger’s stubborn, his throat bathes in Russian…

Vodka, hangovers are no brain concussions

But boy oh boy, them dome aches is something

Still I state the realness, I don’t make assumptions 

Still debate with villains, like: ‘probation’s nothing’

A drama king for sure, and my road rage is sovereign

The furious anger by which my home base was governed

I cloned Rae and Rza plus Ghost Face and Buddens

My fire was premiered, and that glow made us hundreds

No diamonds in my ear and a gold chain’s redundant 

Never needed nah nah, I’m ok with cuffing…

The game to my safe till my dough stays abundant