I don’t even gotta say-it, cause we know you mad-gay
Imma run through all ya shit like plumbers on bad-days //
When you rappin it seems like the beat got ya flow-shook
Imma rip Pad apart like old rhymes in my notebook //
You outta this tourney, your strictly suck
Cause pads aint needed like two hand touch //
He the type to claim Gangsta, but there no thug-in-him
Only time Pad is hot is when I gotta plug it in //
In the States im the best, In Norway you a fad
Got this win on lock and im known to break pads //
You fuckin with a master, dawg imma eat-ya
Send ya body to ya mother in a basket on easter //
Ya whole style is rusted, mine is gold
Imma walk all over pads, like Dr. Sholls //
On the mic im sick, you just thinking’ you fightful
Cause Padz came and Went like the mistral cycle //
