is that it?
I stab you with this mic and rap this verse I’m rappin’ to you
Matter fact I’m rapping through you, never say my motherfucking name
Unless you absolutely have to I am not no fucking jacket
With no matching shoes and you are not no fashion guru
Can’t even see you niggas, y’all wish I was rappin’ to you
Matter of fact act like I’m rappin’ to you if that gives you passion
To use this an excuse then just jump up out of conclusion
That I’m attackin you dudes is just like old fashion voodoo
Y’all ain’t even the shit, y’all ain’t even the doodoo
I got more flavor on the tissue paper under my Toobos
So I’m slapping you fools with wooden paddles you stupid
Baby sitting low baskets like little afternoon children
You can call me psychotic but it’s more like schizophrenic
And I can speak can anyone tell me just where my medicine is
Guess I gotta show these minors just what my avenue is
Man I swear I’m up out of my brain like graduate students
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings
I see your tears, come here, give me your face, let me clear it
But I wonder how it would look if I could peel it back with a skilliet
Then I’mma fill it crack when I hit it, then I’mma spill it back when you ill it
Dammit Bobit Moore, what in the hell, what in the heaven, what in the Earth
Where is your mom? Why do you curse? Where are you from?
Where was your birth? Where was you first? Why weren’t you in church?
Why is there dirt, all on your shirt? Man I think you’re going berserk..