Welcome to the ill world of Mr. P-O Ayy, keep the talk, B, I'm tryna see dough If it ain't about bread, what we gon' speak fo'? If it ain't no lead, then it ain't no beef, bro You better get a leash ‘cause yo' freak ho Specialize in wood like she Home Depot I'm like Chico DeBarge, we stars Roscoe P. Coltrane in these bars Man, Amtrak, I'll break her damn back Man, it's Ralph Lauren, this ain't no damn Chaps It's all Polo, I'm so pro though You bird-crazy; El Pollo Loco Talkin' about cheese and this ain't no photo Askin' about rings like the ho know Frodo You better get out of my house and shit I think I threw up in my mouth a bit: I'm sick

Niggas be lyin', talkin' about they bust a heater Once I see him, maybe more like Justin Bieber Leavin' my rivals underground, like Skyzoo's, how I do I have him layin' in the street and bleedin', butt-naked With a bullet in his mothafuckin' head like Erykah Badu I find irony in bein' in a place Where I'm wearin' Gucci, mane, gettin' whiteboy wasted I tell a nigga: break bread or take lead I'm tryin' to get rid of this weight, like K-Fed Me and Denaun got a gangsta bond We like that once-in-a-lifetime thing to you That ain't the prom The next MC that rhyme official, with ref, with a whistle That ain't Young Money, I'ma definitely diss you If you rhymin' "packin' a MAC" with "back of the Acura" Or perhaps you can't match my spectacular vernacular You still rhymin' bottles with models, college with knowledge Usin' the word swagger, you're probably garbage You thugs funny, comparin' 5'9" to anybody You comparin' Superman to Bugs Bunny

I'm like a white Michael – Vick, psycho enough to stick Michael J. Fox in a microwave with a Rott I might make a little Alizé with a side of NyQuil And ride a motorcycle bike Right through the side of my high school Satan's disciple with a sniper rifle And a knife and a white diaper Liable to shit on you while I snipe you So dope he gets off opiates What an appropriate way to start off his day! He may just smart off to Dre He may be hard to contain ‘Cause his rage is so hard to gauge See, Hannibal ate his face, and met Jason, gnawed off his leg Amazin' hard-on for razors and blades And anything sharp, even poisonous darts It all plays a major part of his game Holy water won't ward him off, crucifixes won't do the trick He's so sick, it's ridiculous Sawed the crazy part off his brain, he's still insane Why's there bloodstains on his carpet, mane? There's some crazy shit goin' on in Shady's apartment again

Okay, it's back to the blocks, slingin' yay like the old days Superman on the beat, I carry my whole state You wooden legs to a house: you can't hold weight Oh shit, it's O'Shea Jackson… okay A little bit of this twisted out with Obama in it Mr. Porter back with anthrax, like Osama sent him Bitch, I'm all that, I drive the girls crazy They gotta look at Rorschachs to get they thoughts back I ain't a small fry, small ticker, small tack I make 'em all cry with big dick and raw sack The potblood of science to return a raw rap I'm the best, mane; Eli Porter stance

Y'all bitches should call Nickle the Don Bishop A poet, a mixture of Don Goines and John Grisham Flow'll have you rewindin' it four or five times That landmine rhyme written with porcupine line Step up in here with the Slaughterhouse C.O.B. Gang will approach you And bend your gun barrel to a horseshoe Only fuck with monsters, we the truth Monsters will pop up on you Like you said "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice." I can't even see the booth, I could fit in Stevie's shoe I'm sick, I got the Desert Eagle flu I'm rich, lil' nigga, we don't need a cent, we Teflon The doctor tried to take blood, the needle bent; ask Mom Outta my mind if you can imagine Usin' Magic's johnson without a condom, I'm bonkers Got the streets goin', dude, it's tremendous If I come for your blood, I ain't gon' be usin' syringes

Newsflash, I'm still trash Them pills shoulda killed my ass But they didn't; they just made me stronger It's like they rebuilt my ass Like the Six Million Dollar Man after the crash It's Aftermath, bitch! And my milk glass is still half-empty Yeah, tempt me, Hell isn't enough They need to invent somewhere new to send me As sick as I'm getting They'll stick me in a conventional oven With a rotisserie setting and won't even notice me sweating Shit, I done made a verse, said some foul shit Tryna go back fix it, fucked around, and just made it worse Yeah, I'm back, looking no worse for wear Got these haters mad enough to rip off their hair And start punchin' the air Panties so in a bunch that they can't function It's Shady and Royce, fuck yeah! What a dysfunctional pair! So stop actin' like a punk, get a pair! Take a pill and fall the fuck out, spill your lunch in the chair!

Look, I'm sick, somebody better get the Dimetapp Who I gotta shoot just to prove that I can rap? People ask where my shine is at I say check the liner notes, I done done all kinda crap I am so much of a star, bitch That I can fart and piss on the red carpet Look, my bank account's retarded My debit card's got a helmet and a harness Hey, meet demands, but they all are harmless At shows my riders always the largest I need four pounds of fried poultry carcass And red M&Ms chartered from Charlotte Look, and if you try to act dumb and start shit I just yell at 'em, like, "I'm the artist!" Infected — you know the deal If you wanna play sick, we can all get ill Look, measles, mumps I made you bitches, I don't need you chumps Y'all got cheese and I need my chunks Hurry up, so I can go to burn rubber And get some more dunks

Now, if your attitude determines your latitude This house that we call hip-hop, I'm in the attic, fool A mic and two turntables, fit for the unstable Converted to a padded room Keep a street sweeper; in fact, I call the mag a broom You seein' beef, seein' things You musta had yourself a bag of shrooms I make a call, make 'em fake a fall My clique is too sick, say goodbye In the streets where the stakes is high, like Ruth's Chris I'm from the city of true shit Where the mayor went to jail For bein' a player right after Proof split Levels the head of competitors, Royce that I'm drinkin' everyday 'Til Hex Murda get his regular voice back Ras, I got ya, look scared at ya, blast from ya From a block away; ask Tricky, I'm that niggie I'm more hooder than black Dickies I rap like committin' suicide In the booth, takin' the track with me Patrón's in my chromosomes In order to leave it alone, you have to ween me off That Lorena Bobbitt chopper will knock a weenie off Put your body between chalk I'm squeezin' the 9 iron, like I'm swingin' golf I'm with the best rapper alive, put somethin' on it Your sound's plain as a cheeseburger with nothin' on it

I'll do a hundred-yard dash just to slash Kim Kardash' In the ass with a shard of glass from Nick Hogan's car crash You may look like the passenger for that, don't be a smartass Yeah, laugh while you sit there Thinkin' that the hard part passed You ain't seen pain 'til Leatherface flips mane I'll cut your fuckin' balls off, homie, my saw's off the chain I chopped the bitch in half with it, sawed off her legs And the top half of the torso fuckin' crawled off insane I ain't seen shit like that since I went to Mike Jack's Took the Elephant Man's skull, fucked it, and put it right back Handed my dick to Bubbles While he sucked it and licked my nut sack Gave him a reach-around While I fucked him right in his butt crack Nah, I ain't takin' it back, faggot, fuck that! I give a fuck about nothin', so here's where you fucked up at Don't go touchin' that can Man, you don't wanna open up that Wait a min, ah, shit… Alchemist, cut that!