[Sole]
Dear El-Pee,
How's your summer been?
Mine's been fine
I heard you had a real good time at camp
Oh, yeah, I talked to Len, he said everythings cool
Oh, yo, I really liked "End To End Burner"
That little diss me thing on the internet was pretty funny
Yeah it's live sucker
Uh, yeah, and I was talking, ya know,
Trying to sell my records to distributors
And they wouldn't take it because, you know
Some fat white kid figured it'd be funny to blackball
Well, you know, I wrote a little poem about it
And I really hope you like it
So have your mother read it to you
And if you guys like it you can write me back

I'm a Anticon iconoclast catalyst for cataclysm
Tell Fox dissing Sole, bad executive decision
Your egosystem's frail, with a spoon I could dissect it
Soundin' like Corky got his nubs on a websters dictionary
A Ras Kass record and a brand new MPC
Pressing all them pretty buttons making wack beats
To hell with phat beats I'd rather rock acapella
I'd rather be broke and have a whole'lotta resent
Not a rich king, a pawn, a pegan for me to pee on
Check out 9th street, a big sign, El-Pee got served in neon
Trendy indie underground 'cause you haven't got a choice
Take away your elitist buddies and you haven't got a voice
No five thousand for radio, no hundred thou for adds and banners
No paying record stores for all your Rawkus propaganda
Well-timed marketing scheme, it's cool to be independent
But if it was last year you'd be a dun or a Missy Elliot
And after your indie bravado and the label has recouped
You're broker than when Libra left you crying for a record deal from Luke
I strike you awestruck you femanine to blackball
I'll be serving you 'till you're serving me ice cream in a mall
Some fool said this is an underground Canibus and LL
Well that's comedy, 'cause I'll serve all three of y'all
Heard Rupert had to starve all the indie artists to feed your ego
Running around the Bay looking for Sole with your foot in your mouth
I heard you like the Bay (castro) but think four tracks are wack
Lost in the ozone and all your mixdowns sound like crap
Hiding lack of intellect behind hipster catch phrase and babble
Indellibles'll never get a full-length 'cause you don't wanna be outshined
Fine, I heard you wanna kill me and get fools after me
The only violence you ever witnessed was on Menace ll Society
Try to sound deep and got masses fooled by your lack of rhythm
I elevate while you perpetuate your malopropism

[Sole mimmicking El-P]
Yo, wha, what did he just call me dun?
Yo, I don't know man
Yo, I, I don't know what he just called you man
Well, yo, go get the books, go get the Bible
Yo, man, well apparently you must have ripped all the pages out in the dictionary
Man, 'cause you've used all the words
So I'm never gonna find out what he called me?
He's usin' big words against me?
Yo, this is intrepid god

I'm a hip hop artist, you style biting emcee sucker
Had a crayon contest with retarted kids and picked the wackest album cover
Picked the wrong emcee to diss subliminally, every line dissected
Yeah, I diss you on the internet, to your face and on record
For the record, I know the muck from which out you have stepped
First you sound like Beatnuts, then you're mr. 4,000 syllables
One bar, out of breath on stage a failure
Gotta quit rockin' mics and start rockin' an asthma inhaler
El-Producto, independent as Fox
Since when do indie records show up in a W-E-A box?
By saying your independent, you belittle the whole movement
Real emcee's work hard, ain't got investors to put out their music
Underground conspiracy, but this ain't used by No Limit
Mad 'cause you didn't blow up, the victim of your own wack gimmick
But some fools bought into it 'cause they don't know no better
That you're a hamburger pimp, only out for the cheddar
Yo, what's a battle emcee that can't freestyle?
All those references to imaginary emcee's, come battle me
Remember in Boston, you starting calling fools out?
And when emcee's tried to battle, you were the first to break out
Well, you surely don't wanna battle, of course you wanna fight, you're bigger
Fine, you win, we can have a contest to see who's the biggest wigger
Oh, you win again, it must feel great, I heard you don't like white emcee's
Traded in your Kani and X hats for a fresh set of Echo's and Adidas
You as hip hop as Garth Brooks and as manly as gartar belts
And if you're so creative, talk about something other than yourself
No, I'm not dissing New York or any of your comrades in arms
I'm tearing down that posterboy Miss Piggy-lookin' leprachaun
El-Pee vs. The Spice Girls (I got 5 on scary spice)
But both of y'all are in desperate need of backup singers when it's live
And I know they think you're original but follow me through this portal
You bit your whole styles from an underground emcee named Vordul
Spread rumors about me to everyone you meet, evade being a man
I heard you're putting out an instrumental album of sitars, pots and pans
You've done enough talking, so I know you ain't fading Sole
Have your boy Rupert Murdock fly you out, I'll serve you on the Wake Up Show
The red-headed kingpin, step child to a little herpe sore festering
Heard you only pull females when you tell'em you're a lesbian
Wanna sign autographs, but all your fans are rappers
The evolution will not be televised, as your #1 fan becomes your master
I'd love to give you a hand but all I got is a middle finger
Farakhan won't squash this, so we can finish it on Jerry Springer
Newsweek martyr, bring your rhetoric retort
You outta tootsie roll under your rock, your two minutes of fame got cut short
FYI: starving artists don't have corporate luncheons
Got a horrible freestyle and the rest of your style is (studio punch-ins)
The dun-crusher busts fresh overly when I blast'em
And those so-called freestyles, they all popped up on your album
Manipulate your connects so they wanna see me on a curb
But I guarantee you lyin' 'cause you know 1-on 1 you'd get served
Now it's time to pay dues like when Daddy Warbucks
Bought your face onto the cover of the last Stress
We gonna battle, so write your rhymes ahead of time
And I'll still come twice as fresh
And keep it all in the family, like Rose, I'll take a back seat
Keep my name out your mouths like my wax from the racks of (phat beats)
Fat ego's inflated, hope you liked my little poem
And hope to hear from you soon, signed, your friend, Sole