Which of you schnooks took my rhyme book? 

Look give it back you're wicky wack 

With your ticky tack calls didn't touch you at all 

I didn't touch your hand man you know its all ball 

You sold a few records but don't get slick 

'Cause you used a corked bat to get those hits 

You've been in the game, your career is long 

But when you break it down you've only got 2 songs 

MC's are like clay pigeons when I'm shootn' skeet 

I just yell pull and Mike drops the beat 

You people call yourselves MC's but you're garbage men 

Takin' out the trash when you pull out the pen 



And if you don't like then hey fuck you! 



I read about you up on page 6 

They was trashin' your ass it's sad you're getting dissed 

Now talk about your face now don't get pissed 

But I suggest you see a dermatologist 

I keep that hot sauce hot not mild and weak 

It's gonna burn your mouth until you wet your beak 

I've got billions and billions of rhymes to flex 

'Cause I've got more rhymes than Carl Sagan's got turtlenecks 

Your rhymes are fake like a Canal Street watch 

You're hearing me and you're like "oh my god its Sasquatch!" 

I'm walkin' on water while you're stepping in shit 

So put your sewer boots on before your ass gets lit 



And if you don't like then hey fuck you! 

So put a quarter in your ass cause you played yourself 



Sucker MC's it's me they're resenting 

In the animal kingdom they call it presenting 

With the dipsy doodle the kit and caboodle 

The truth is brutal your grandma's kugel 

Kings County is my stomping ground 

The Albee Square Mall, Brooklyn, Downtown 

So don't ask me to wine and dine ya 

I'm from Brooklyn you're from Regina 

You're like Foghorn Leghorn, Yosemite Sam 

You're just yellin' and wildin' wondering who I am 

With those lies you're telling you look like Toucan Sam 

But my style's impregnable like the Hoover Dam 



And if you don't like then hey fuck you!