Lyrics
I'm back on top, I won't stop puttin fear in ya bones / This serious clone, stole his name from Serious Jones
And it's known, that I'm prone, to hit cha dome wit a right hand / You screamin in ya fuckin microphone like a hype man
Iight fam, I'll point blank you period / This battle the only time, I'ma take you Serious
I'm clearin a straight path, cuz its not enough respect / So ease back, Rap Flava's, Rap Music Reject
I bleed raps, you jus tryna get cha lips wet / Another east coast nigga swagga jackin Dipset
I kill sets, you survive and snitch / The original Matrix, you can die in a glitch
You tried to switch streets, I'm ridin, my clique's deep / It's fine, cuz this geek was ridin a bitch beat
My iron can spit heat, and you might be food / But you only here cuz other nigga's got DQ'd
I'm bout to turn it on, bright lights burnin strong / Why ya mic sound like the type I order burgers on
I keep servin long, shots wit the back-hand / Gat damn, have you eatin' dots like Pac-Man
I spit crack and, notice how my rhymes glow / Let the nine blow, and turn this nobody to John Doe
You'se a lyin ho, all you do is type thug / Only time you seen a 40 Cal, was watchin Fight Club
I'm quick to slice cuz, nigga's is scared / So seriously, you should consider switchin careers
Source quick to have you missin ya rear, you ain't gotta stunt / When I make you dissappear, you can go to HollaFront
I know its gotta suck, to be that male / That's on-line, 24/7 like D.S.L....
He that frail, in his position, I'ma place him there / When I make his strip, thick, as Greg Oden's facial hair
I don't care but, why you raisin ya voice? / Swallow a sub-woofer, try to get some bass in ya voice
I'm waitin to hoist, and toss em in the river / Cuz his pride is in his stomach, and his heart is in his liver
I'm harder than this nigga, I make bill-board plugged music / Thug music, while he bumpin B-More club music...
You up to it, get left stiffened and lazy / Source is rawer than what ya parents sniffed in the 80's...
You a baby, I'm a grown man walkin the curbs / You soft-serve, and ya home-land's the Baltimore burbs
A shot'll burn, beef, let's bury it / Speak outta ya turn, you'll be dead Serious
We startin to learn, that he's inferior / My team hot as a perm, we'll seize that area
Me? I'm sparin ya, but thanks for makin us laugh / His job is to be a joke, he's Serious wit his craft
