|
"Three, two, one, contact!" |
|
(Chorus: x4) |
|
(Apathy:) "Representin' like what" |
|
(Biggie:) "1,000 grams of uncut to the gut" |
|
(Verse 1:) |
|
I'm the type that'll keep my Nikes extra white |
|
Like seein' God's girls in fluorescent light |
|
Plug camcorder cords in electrical fixtures |
|
Take sensual kisses with identical sisters |
|
(And they better give up the ass) Celibate bitches |
|
Are gettin' held under water like developin' pictures |
|
Incredible spittin', got your skeleton twitchin' |
|
Your head'll be twistin' like a demonic medical condition |
|
'Till you vomit and your body is liftin' off of the bed |
|
In position of a crucifixion with your arms spread (You're all dead) |
|
I'm hip-hop's apocalypse, let up and Ap claims the crown |
|
Faggots, step up your rap game |
|
Suckas get shook from shoves, chick checks |
|
You're a bitch, you'll be cleanin' my kicks with Windex |
|
I'm a gigolo, get a ho bitch that's rich |
|
Or a little thick chick in a 626 |
|
I'm consistent, you know when Ap spits it's sick |
|
Yeah, you're different...more like a chick with a dick |
|
I'm a Pisces, addicted to girls, clothes, and Nikes |
|
Material and spiritual, both worlds excite me |
|
Flows fracture foes' flak jackets and rip fabric |
|
A rap addict badder than you backpack faggots |
|
Ap's a beast, the cake's like crack on streets |
|
You swear that you deep, but you can't rap on beat, bitch |
|
(Chorus) |
|
(Verse 2:) |
|
Stop the mutha****in' pressure 'fore the pipes all burst, the mic's don't work |
|
The blows that I throw lift you right off Earth |
|
You'll get...clocked in the face and rocket through space |
|
Shout out your hood, watch your whole block get erased |
|
A superhuman supersoldier, hotter than a supernova |
|
Money multiplies like ??? with Super Soakers |
|
A true rap addict, y'all don't never want static, homey |
|
You'll be at home gettin' that homeopathic |
|
Listen...I don't care if you Christian, Muslim or Catholic |
|
God got a whole iPod filled with Ap's shit |
|
Y'all came for cream but get very little |
|
'Cause Ap reign supreme, y'all barely drizzle |
|
Metaphysical, still count cheddar better than digital |
|
Money machines runnin' the scenes, summon the fiends, I'm lovin' it though |
|
Makin' an abundance of dough |
|
Runnin' the show, pumpin' blow 'till I'm numb in the soul |
|
A child from the 80's era, you couldn't paint it clearer |
|
Grew up with moms snortin' cocaine off a mirror |
|
Those are all the little things that make me me |
|
Couldn't focus my brain and blamed A.D.D. |
|
On the contrary, Ap is like mental level |
|
Hence the mental state rate grows exponential |
|
But, if y'all wanna brawl, better call Paul Wall |
|
To fix all them teeth Ap knocked outta your jaw, punk |
|
(Chorus) |
