im the type-to-beat-ya, ignite-ya-preacher, and fight-the-deacon/
straight zoning in hell, while ya mother still ''roamin'' for ''cells (sales)'' on her ''nights-and-weekends''/
im ike-to-tina, ya wife-to-penis, nikes-to-reeboks, dikes-to-cheap-twats/
i'll spit ''3 16's'' and they all ''stone cold'', you'll just fight-to-beat-rock/
smell whats cookin-dude/
f*** ya apperel, cause ya wife seen my ''timber land'' and you wont do sh*** about it, you just a puss-in-boots/
like bandaras, im so damn careless hops/
thats why when i go to handle ya, you'll get dropped/
im tight-in-this-place/
when ya go to ya homies, yall must eat powdered donuts, cause you always leave with white-on-ya-face/
on that note, im straight-pal/
lookin at this nigga, walkin round stunt doublin for big gay-al/
if im coming to cause-attack/
you better hit the next ''exit'' on a ''straight away'' in a ''dodge'' wearing a ''dodgers''-hat/
and that last line is too complex for the populas/
next time i see ya jaw-and-shit, it'll be like i was clumsy with a transgender baby, because im ''droppin-it''/