The song title says it...

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I realized what a thug I am one day and wrote a song about it....

people keep saying that I have an addiction
Nah, it can't be, it's love, not an affliction
To these little white pills that people get by perscription
I'd marry these things but I'm afraid of commitment
Can bring the lighters out, everytime that I rap
Caliber Winfield, synonymous for "f*** yeah"
Keep on spittin' till they pleadin' no more
To the floor, then duffle bag, till they wash up on shore
Pores excrete envy when I step on the mic
I'll smash the f***ing bulb that was in your lime-light
Spite, smite, and mite, my geonym plan
Or more simpler terms, I'm the motherf***ing man

Chorus:
Here comes the breakdown, if you a punk then it's a shakedown
West cost scrubsta, serving up some slugs, sir, make no mistake now
Here's the breakdown, you better lay down
West coast rider, coming right behind you, make no mistake now

2 bucks to my name, or a million, kick the same
a scrub get famous but a scrub still lame
still won't get chicks still spit the same
Cuz I still wet the bed, but, I can't complain, cuz
this is the start, of MOB; that's Music Over bi***es
Cuz sluts are annoying
Always trying to stop me from giving them a head-butt
Mad cuz the only time I call is when I'm messed up
So what, slut. You're lucky I call at all
Like you're gonna find someone else this bald
Like you're gonna find someone with they moms, like I do
F*** the police and a 502
Like you're gonna find someone else this broke
Anyone but ScrubLife, bi***, is a joke
Laughin at your porche while I"m pushing a Pacer
Caliber Winfield, Straight gangster, no chaser