Intro/Chorus: repeat 4X



Who you won test, me have a champion style



Verse One:



Meet the mic controller, the Philly roller, the wicked one

Sun rude bwoy come rhymes off top the head

Said what I said and did what I did

Never catch another bid, create rubbers and slid

I'm out of there, ghost evaporate vanish

Callate la voca if need be I'm Spanish

No habla ingles, police ask questions

I don't know nuttin, ain't nuttin happening, stop stressing

I'm headed down the alleyway

With the Smith on my hip, shank in my hand, who's the man

You won test, who me?

I think you better back up and chill, G

Don't make me mad boy, don't even try

Eyah got skills, eyah smoke mad thai

You steppin to a brother who been through it all

My freestyle is wild you nah won test my yes y'all

You think you got flavor to match?

You can get a smack for that, black



Chorus



Verse Two:



Nobody can do it

You runnin out of gas Sun, leakin much fluid

I'm hungry like Jack two inches away from a Big Mac

then BUCK BUCK BUCK

Take that witcha on the way down, so you don't feel the ground

when you hit, and your head splits, fuck all that bullshit

It's hectic, respect it, the dialect, I come

original, the intellect, refuses to tongue twist

So don't tell me naythan

Me have a champion style, hardcore with a taste of Jamaican

You steppin to the wrong one the Nine is the seed of Jesus

I get loose on ninety proof

Fatter than a bubble goose, unpredictable

you never know what I'm going to say after I say

what I say when I say what I say when I play, next?!?

There it is, who you won test



Interlude:



The deceased resented the fact, and told him off in no uncertain terms

He still kept coming, he identified himself, and then drew his revolver



Chorus



Verse Three:



Cream of the crop nonstop hip-hop

Funky stuff rough enough to, break up the handcuffs

Scuff a cream puff like an old pair of boots

When the Nine millimeter shoots the gift I was born with

Who's that, with the booby trap, poisoning rap

with the wack bullcrap, we can't have that

Shut him down, I'm underground

and if my sound hits the airwaves of pop, it'll still be hip-hop

No samples from Barry Manilow

Strictly Timbo, you know, the whole 40 below

That's how I'm rollin in the Nines

Nine-Five, Nine-Six, Nine-Seven to get mines



Outro:



Yeah I'm sending this out to all you bigmouth

knucklehead suckers that was talkin all that garbage

I am the man, who you won test, punk?