I take time off the clock cut my rhymes till its dope//
Spending hours on my lines like Whitney with the coke//
To sniff the mic I over dose it get the brain all roasted//
Never knowing when the flows hit with explosive motion//
Like that shit straight fresh from Columbian ocean//
I wake up early in the morning as the birds be//
Chirping along rhythmically as karate beats//
Kicking out the shoebox I mellow out write a few rocks//
Stoning anybody who bumps me in the boom box//
Hit the block where its hot 8ball in hand//
Corner pocket is the spot where the baller stand//
Cause its straight out the motherfucking dungeon of rap//
Where battling kats is like they sucking dick for crack//
Be having dreams about pies of cream//
Look between my legs fly’s filled with green//
Money’s the mean quick to trigger your wig//
And fuck a gold digger quick to swallow your kids//
Well this kid scale on a ten keep the mac on the tongue//
I’m William Hung always killing it when the rap is sung//
Rappers are done flipping in banana clips//
Monkey’s stupid if you think you’re fluid in these languages//
The language of art I manage to spit in any lingo//I don’t know where to start
I’m teaching metaphor through lingual//
My rhymes are like a scholar’s note held with in the ring hole//
The rap supplier spitting keys compatible to melodies//
I be in front of record label with the sign up//
Spit for food while ya’l spit my pubes and sniff my line up//
Cause you know nothings equivalent to my hip-hop state of mind//
