No time like the present to opine with the peasants
And, ope, I am the essence, or poems, rhymes, in the presence of
'05 in the NY, '06 in the CO
Drove sticks to the glow sticks, poked tips for the DOs

Shit I'm loco like The Machine, local just like your team, I like coca just like a fiend
And I'm vocal, I didn't mean to invoke or set your feet to the coals, I misspoke
You're a bozo if you believe

I want both of you to leave, you and you to stay
I'm a Jew in the way you spell it, a Buddhist from day to day
I'm improving the verbal shelling, the brutalest on display
And your doodles ain't doing doo doo, I'm dutiful in the paint

Profane prophet, I see the future
Givers who're giving slivers while profiting off the moochers
I'm inspired by Rigz and Mooch in Cha Cha
To rock the garbage plate, chomp it till I got two chins

I'm confident, cool, and competent, stomping it, I'm a shoe in
Jockey to rock some duets from Compton to the house of Ewing
And I'm pound for the pound bruising for down for the count approval
Got gout on account of booze, found the fountain of youth in Duvel

Fucking fascists counting their rubles, fashion houses and poodles
Ash them out and we'll see how the rations sound when the food do
Little to stop the masses from lashing out when your voodoo economics is brutal

For every story that's told, there's another story never been told
Gets embedded in flows
This ain't forty, this is forty plus four
Open the letter, fucker, let it unfold

We went from Mario shit, to like, Rosario, Kids
To can I borrow your whip?
Slipping in bars with a fifth
Know who you are in this skit, know who you were at the time
Know the only worry we had in the world was serving up Chymes

And I'm the fucking Hyphen, of course
I went from knife intercourse to fucked up nights in the dorm
With Big Mike tucked in the corner, jungle juice spiked for the warm-up
And I like hyping it, wiping the floor with twice the performers

And I'm the fucking Hyphen, endorsed
I be like Mike on the court, but I got three stripes on the shorts
And I'm on three flights, and the forth, got me with Royce on a tour
Nope, I ain't none of that shit, I'm just chugging pipes on the porch

I'm lighting a torch, a motherfucking titan, I'm more
Powerful than a locomotive, vocally dope and noted
Like Ned Flanders, "Oh brother, okily doke," I'm quoted
And don't believe all you read, I'm just poking holes in your prose

And your boats in the Poconos, so just open you eyes
They say you taste with your nose, but the fat still goes to my thighs
Take it back to 0 to the 5, I was a child of sin
But I left them ghosts on the drive, because that's some childish shit

I still get piled and buck wild when I dry out a pin
Still set the time like sun dial when I'm diving on in
Still in the eye of the fucking storm when the riots begin
We still the life of the party when we all dying within

For every story that's told, there's another story never been told
Gets embedded in flows
This ain't fourty, this is forty plus four
Open the letter, fucker, let it unfold

Forefathers told us stick to our guns and go harder
My pops roasted and ghosted, he's no papa
He toasted me no Eggos, but also, he's no copper
I went from dropping hoppers to competent bowl chopper

I'm so dominant, righties is getting pissed of
Writing is just a mixture of fighting and painting pictures
I might even take your kids to the sinister side of living
Shooting, sucking, toking, and soaking in all the drinking

Kill Whitey, fuck Biden, provided, divided we fall
United only by an airline, say goodbye to the pilots
Admire the violence from islands and denial of science
Till silence is the only thing we hear, it's out one and in one ear

Till shotguns abound, and the cop pleas when we seizing the pump
Feeding Season, Trump treason, and reason to dump
Bodies in trunks, as we drop keys in the front
As the cops beat the bejesus out of Black people for fun

And I got beef with the blood that flows deeper than flesh
As grown people believing that a bloodline is reason to hang
Budweiser, season to hate, need I attest
For every blow to their ego, we get a knee to the neck

Repeated effect, we bled out and peed in the bed
With every dead vet, the masters get a key to the 'Vet
And then the masters hold our masters and their hold on our checks
Till we crashing and we thrashing, and we broken and bent

But if we're broken, we have spoken, that's a token of pride
Thought I was joking with that shooting, sucking, toking aside?
You see, as much as I love Farley, this is hardly a game
Because even up on stage with Marley, who gave Marley his name?
Chains