I can't hear nuttin though 
Alright, where you want me to start at? 
Aiyyo you can kill the music then 
Yo, check one two, check one two in the place to be 
From the bottom to the T-O-P 
That's right, Flavor Flav, Public Enemy 
From Bronx to L.A., we don't fail 
Kickin right here for 7th Veil 
My man Kool Keith, H-Bomb, no jive 
Yo, H-Bomb, hit 'em in the head son 
[H-Bomb] 
No blazes, tennis shoes and denim 
Pimp I got the gators, leathers I kill 'em 
Your bullshit events, don't play right 
No tribute awards for Mr. Barry White 
It's Guantanamo Bay, industry's gay 
Hard to get rich, I don't swing that way 
That switch to funny make record in Kingston 
Jesus is black, tell Mel Gibson 
Who wears a skirt, Sting and Dave Navarro 
My strap, my money, don't lend, don't borrow 
The Sunset Strip is Gaza Strip 
Your clothin line is shit, H is fuckin sick! 
The rap game industry too quiet 
Hehehehehe hah hah Atkins Diet 
No backpackers pro-athlete actors 
I rep for pimps, pushers, jackers 
The P on the fitted I'm all for pimps 
I throw ropes down for my niggaz in the clink (yeahhhh boy!) 
First and foremost, the industry don't want it 
Fuck it, I take what I want and flaunt it 
I'm not vexed, they spend for sex 
Who's next after Michael, fuck Funkmaster Flex 
[Flavor Flav] 
Yeahhhh boyee, kickin it for 7th Veil 
That's right, H-Bomb (fuck the industry, fuck it) 
Kool Keith (fuck the industry nigga fuck it) 
Hit 'em G 
[Kool Keith] 
No game here, I shit on you ill son 
Fuck Hollywood's best guest list 
Maximum dead-ass parties with flat-ass Paris Hilton 
My shit shine bright with Von Dutch wipe 
Jockin my gators, bitches with fake titties act like 
they don't suck dick, can you see me under the standard light 
Fuck the red carpet, I'm in here with standard hype 
You just at the crib on Sycamore 
Your blonde cocker spaniel, my rings shine in your face 
Youse a asswipe, you basketball player nut and scrotum jocker 
You the givin ass type, with the Minnesota Timberwolves 
Garnett's clockin your ass pipe 
Ugly monster-face bitch, you think you dressed tight 
Evil bastard, you make your grandmother upset 
Don't flush the toilet motherfucker, you tryin to start a fight 
Release the shit off my chest, get rid of the gripe 
I shit inside your grey and white Nikes 
Exercise your fat stomachs, no hamburgers at Chevies 
You ride them fuckin bikes 
Corny-ass 42 year old player's club bitch 
The funky face motherfuckin Wanda Sykes 
That baldheaded motherfucker just put a weave in, on UPN 
Whack-ass tattoos above your titties 
Your hard faced bitch, you'll see me again 
Like Faith Evans is the only one that sniffs 
All you cocaine motherfuckers in the hills 
Even Vivica Fox is a ugly bitch, chasin Curtis for his chips 
Engineer, just put me in that mix