What, yeah, yeah Black John McClane, Harold the Menace, and the Waterproof with my nigga Bud'da, on the track Golden State Warriors.. Eatin every rapper on the plate Huh, feel me
I got three-oh-fo's in three-one-oh on section eight, with multiple one-eighty-sevens Sport a Marilyn Manson t-shirt when I die and go to heaven Smoke a beady, scrape my lungs, smoke the resin Remember the name Ras Kass-ciano Get to clownin y'all punk bitches, cause I'm a Mac, like Ronald I make Mac make money, and mack murder wack rappers My Makaveli verse Bomb First, the Mac-11'll gat cha When I get at cha, the situation tenses Fatality before you ever reach your senses Got so-called writers, crashing into brick fences like my name was Al Fayed so you die, like that white princess If you lookin for sympathy, you better look between R and T, in the fucking dictionary See the object of the game is to win, stack some ends, sippin Henn' Whip a Benz and leave it to your next of kin
Pick a card any card, I bet you can't pull it Golden State, number one with a bullet It's three card molly Will they ever stop? Probably not Pull your spine through your mouth and watch your body drop
The un-edited medic, on the cut, with a degree in metaphysics A doctor, with a lot of patients/patience And perseverance -- flows like an ocean liner that sails/sales like a clearance, I'm bilingual Fly like a flamingo, I'm a pitcha, everything I freak I eat like Al Pacino, you don't like me baby You ain't happy, you need some Ecstasy Now you in my properties, but you have to pay my equity For the lowest point in my character I'll reach the highest place in the house when I rock like the Qu'ran, fuse hot, fluid with flavor like buillion cube Been this way since I was fourteen And like this I been runnin shit without the use of Sportscreme Rippin up tracks like immigrant Chinese, peep the game I lay I'm grim, I brim over my brow when I rip Never write rhymes with slim fingertips Each syllable you choose to use is light as a flower Keep tryin to go gold but all you're gettin is a golden shower
Look, now if it wasn't for the West These rap niggaz wouldn't need a vest around they chest Keep bustin about where you rest, and what you own, and what you drive So the day some niggaz come for you I'm really not surprised Mr. Black Bruce Willis, please don't kill us I show mercy like Kevorkian, like a scorpion We sting you from behind and put it in you, so meet me at the venue Put you on the spot to put you on the menu Fricaseed emcee, we be the ones that keep the pussy hot Xzibit livin life, like a bull inside a china shop Strippin everything, see you ain't even got a dime to drop Go ahead and call the cops, you ain't said nathin Jerry Spring-you out the studio, then Suge Knight you to the parkin lot, niggaz ain't ready for all this heat we got Picture yourself crushin Xzibit with your tough talk That's like Christopher Reeves doing the crip walk
