(feat. Majik Most)



Apathetic (yeah) the heir to the thrown (word)

Mother molestors click (you know about that!)

My man Majik Most the sweaty back bastard

Yeah, yo don't even talk to us

Don't run up with your burned CD or piece of shit CD

With the cover picture on the front that your grandma took bitch... fuck you!



[Verse 1: Apathy]

I turn rappers to dust, burn rappers who bust

turn wax to cut, burn backs of sluts

earn stacks of bucks, learn raps to crutch

you herb cats who touch the microphones I clutch

just observe and take notes how I make paeso's and date hoes

hotter than pepper on jalipanios

paragraphs vibe through your speaker box

making people stop on the streets to clock

like cops in front of reefer spots

I'm known for pulling mics apart like repair shops

and when you bump I never feel it like air shocks

I used to rock air macks with Nike Air hats

now I scare cats they compare Ap to bear traps

I'm the type of path that people don't cross

like the blair witch woods when you suckers get lost

I'm the hottest thing alive flame broiling spots

I'm foiling plots, my brainwaves boiling pots

at a temperature the burners on your stove can't match

I bust caps cause my heads way too big for hats

I'm gonna test your girls physical stamina

while I'm diggin and slammin her on the digital camera



[Chorus: x2]

So don't talk to me about MC's got skills

He's alright but he's not real

Don't talk to me about MC's got skills

They're okay but they're not ill



[Verse 2: Majik Most]

ay yo hold up, majiks on the case

watch the flames from my tape ignite your gas tank

I lace you like your mom in a bondage suit

with matching hooker boots teaching you to tie your shoes

you lose every time I rhyme

I'll clothesline you off your scooter, your nothin but a loooser!

I'm on some highschool shit with lolipops in my pocket

for hot chick on my dick under seventeen with my picture in their locket

on the club scene they don't need to take extacy they think about me

it's obvious I won't win a grammy from a song

but i'll run up in moeisha and get my brandy on

ask me if I'm dope, C'MON I'M MAJIK MOST!

I'll roast you bitch, I barbeque kids till you just a fucking skeleton wearin a wig

I'm trying to be Mr. Big so don't talk to me bitch



[Chorus x2]



[Verse 3: Apathy]

You better watch what you say like lip syncing in mirrors

quit thinkin your near us, your not even a million miles close enough to hear us

I stand six feet back and spit these raps until the concrete streets crack

I simplfy just to pass it by the mass and burn you like ants under a mangnifying glass

ya'll are unerlings like the servents of kings

while I form ciphers and patterns like saturns circular rings

(it's Apathy) my soul purpose stands to cripple

my verses tear through tissue like surface to air missles

navigating fighter planes safe to the ground

with one engine down and enimes circling all around

I'm mythical to hip hop fans some people hear

that I'm seven foot eight with three heads and no fear

they say I spit fire and I walk on air

well if what they say is true then you'd better beware



[Chorus x2]