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 as an excuse to jump at a conclusion
That I’m attacking you dudes, it's just like old fashion voodoo
Y’all ain’t even the shit, no ya’ll ain’t even the doodoo
I got more flavor on the tissue paper under my two boots
So I’m slapping you foolish with wooden paddles you stupid
Babysitting little bastards 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 where my avenue is
Man I swear I’m all about 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 were to peel it back with a skillet
Then I would feel it crack when I hit it, then I’mma split it back when you heal it
Dammit Bobby boy, what in the hell, what in the heaven, what in the Earth
Where is your mom? What are you cursed? Where are you from?
Where was your birth? Where were you first? Why weren’t you in church?
Why is there dirt all on your shirt? Man I think you’re going berserk..
