I've been up this mutha fucka for so long
Its like-I cant do it wrong-its always a good song
No fancy hip hop-no sing alongs-just lyricism
Realist words on snare or pop-fallin out ya cynic-ism
Like a hybrid mechanism-I can do this an do you
Like Westside-G style-or talk box-I can act a fool
Or be back for the first time-word of mouf-its beer n chicken
Thickening the plot to see me get my title shot-bitchin
Cuz half em aint got my talent-half em aint gone last
Its been ten years next month-its December twenty ten-fast
Shit it's been a blink of an eye-and the skills improved this much
So now I've lost control-and I'm smackin emcees-kickin they crutch
Killin they producers-and shittin on they so called perfect tracks
What about these niggas claimin hoods-they need to call it raps
Cuz last time I checked-these kids run on fake blocks
None of ya real-last I heard-u were seen talkin to cops

Survival of the iLLest-it's the siccest membrane
Stuck in them thangs-yea we've gone insane
Rippin through beats-disturbin wave-frames
Up in everybody's shit-we holla at your dames
Flip the script-slap ya pops-jaw rock ya moms
Droppin nades and blades on rats-like vietnams
Viet-chink-anese-these jin type rummy niggas
Jaundice-yellowish-with rasta accents-but u all still niggas