Well I got more bounce to the fuckin' bump. And then you want to know. Why it's cause I'm motherfuckin' truckin'. I'm in the pocket just like Grady Tate. I got supplies of beats so you don't have to wait. 'Cause I'm the master blaster. Drinking up the shasta. My voice sounds sweet 'cause it has to. So light a match to my ass 'cause I'm blown up. I'd like to thank the people for just showin' up. But now I want y'all to move it. Put your point on the floor and just prove it. And I'm smurfin not rehearsin' gettin' live y'all. A little puffy so you know what I'm doin' right. 'Cause that's the kind of frame of mind I'm in. I got a feelin' that's back again. So don't touch me 'cause I'm electric. And if you touch me you'll get shocked!. . You've got the boomin' system. But it's blasting out doo-doo. You think it's chocolate milk. But it's watered down yoo-hoo. I've been through many times. In which I thought I might lose it. The only thing that saved me. Has always been music. We've got our own studio the son of the G. It's no question life's been good to me. 'Cause life ain't nothing but a good groove. A good mix tape to put you in the right mood. This one goes out to my man the Groove Merchant. Coming through with beats. For which I've been searching. Like two sealed copies of expansions. I'm like Tom Vu with yachts and mansions. The logo I sport is the face of the monkey. Union made Ben Davis quality it's no junk see. My chrome is shining just like an icicle. I ride around town on my low-rider bicycle.. . So many wack M.C.'s. You get the T.V. bozack. Ain't even gonna call out your names. 'Cause you're so wack. But one big oaf whose faker than plastic. A dictionary definition of the word spastic. You should have never started something. That you couldn't finish. 'Cause writin' rhymes to me. Is like Popeye to spinach. I'm bad ass move your fat ass. 'Cause you're wack son. Dancin' around like you think you're Janet Jackson. Thought you could walk on me. To get some ground to walk on. I'll put the rug out under your ass. As I talk on. I'll take you out like a sniper on a roof. Like an M.C. at the fever in the D.J. booth. With your headphones strapped. You're rockin' rewind pause. Tryin' to figure out what you can do to go for yours. But liek the pencil to the paper I got more to come. One after another you can all get some. So you getter take your time. And meditate on your rhyme. 'Cause your shit'll be stinking. When I go for mine. And that's right y'all don't get uptight y'all. You can't say shit. Because you're biting what I write y'all. And that's wrong y'all over the long haul. You can't cut the mustard. When you're fronting it all