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 now what I'm doin' right
 'Cause that's the kind 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 mild 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 pull the rug out from 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 like the pencil to the paper I got more to come
 One after another you can all get some
 So you better 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 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