C-Rayz, guns and butter!    Go back upstairs, eat your mac cheese and fishsticks    You not 50, you gon' die tryin to "Get Rich"    I spit sick, my lungs' disease is from Asia    My LP's a "Funcrusher" too, my Fantasia's    Roy Jones, knock opponents and ball too    I'm a MC! (Yo!) What the fuck they call you?!    Pussy, my grammar's truth y'all    You wanna be a player, just to dive for loose balls    Dickhead - come out your face, say somethin slick    My lines get all up in your ass, like your uncle's dick    That chick said you're a small piece of wood    stuck in her fingertip (huh?) Little prick!    You ain't even on my son's level, he just a little sick    This ain't really nuttin devil, it's just a little bit    Illegitimate trip through my scenic path    If I really spit, the kids would hate english class    Do the math, my science will blow up your lab    Slow up your staff, I laugh at your arts and crafts    You ass, smelly socks and jocks, gym trash    Drag past those who study honies with drab bags    Son you, have your moms yellin HEY THEY +BAGGED-DAD+    Come through, bomb you like schools in Iraq    Dumb dude, in fact you fiction, mouth be spittin    Raps collapse your ear where wax'll stack, listen    Drum tap, young cat, old vision, soul glisten    Gun clap, one track mind, rhyme whole rhythm creatin    Instead of waitin, refrain from thought patterns    Of your dame givin me crazy brains like horseradish       [Chorus]    Get those props, follow my light    Spit so hot, last week I had to swallow my ice    We end the year with a token ending, swollen sentence    Off the chain like a stolen pendant    Get those props, follow my light    Spit so hot, last week I had to swallow my ice    In the gutter where suckers'll cut ya, mothers'll hug ya    It all comes down to guns and butter       I already seen a mill'/Amil, but you ain't even heard me yet    She moves well without the +Roc+ like the Jersey Nets    You can't, get in the game, your position is lame    Stay on the bench, enjoy the wood you Marc Twain character    I'm holdin back! So I won't melt the polar caps    So good off the top, my hairline's growin back    I make sense/cents now, I'll make dollars later    Holla hater, catch a scratch from the Cut Creator    These is Reebok lines, they supposed to be pumped    And get your smoke for free, like promotional blunts    Your style standard, my style is simply candid    I don't jerk off no more, I came empty-handed    Honeydip said you spit like you sprayin a clip    And wipe my mouth off with tissue, I be sayin some shit    So you can stack cracks, clap gats or rap    We where the wild things are, and it's a fact I max    Subtract the whack, now divide the stacks    Multiplied by the feel of the real, and I'm back    And my DAT contains the masters, so I maintain disaster    Polly with NASA, master tracks    Anything less than that? I'm bridgin the gap    Like African tribes, I got pussy sewed up, it's a rap    But if it's that deep, dap me, clap me too    I fear none of you characters, like Scrappy Doo    "C'mon, put 'em up!" Make the rumors greater    My name's fate, we gon' meet up, sooner or later    Give you fools +Juelz+, like a Santana verse    And wreck the beat 'til your bandana burst       [Chorus]