Verse 1: JT Money
 Roll out the red carpet  let the bugles blow
 The pimp deserves a grand intro  y'don't know?
 I know you're sick of bubble gum w/rappers puttin' you to bed
 But not JT Money  I'm somethin' like a SudaFed
 I give relief that's far from lousy
 And get the job done without gettin' you drowsy
 Since I'm from the bottom  the other rappers tried dissin'
 But in the end, my ass they'll be kissin'
 I must state how stupid remarks
 Can cause enough friction to give off sparks
 Makin' people think that a giant king
 Couldn't come from the bottom 'cause of second string
 But I'ma make history as I get hype
 Drop a science that'll damage that stereotype
 Ask for drama, 'cause I'ma, bout to set off
 A Poisonous freestyle, instead of
 The average, ordinary everyday thing
 I'm outstandin', leavin' rappers out standin' in the rain
 Poison like venom, gettin' in 'em, then I conquer
 When I'm finished rockin' you're jockin' for an encore
 My masterpieces will smash to pieces
 Or should I say demo, the mass that reaches
 You better take a bufferin' with sufferin' from
 The wrath of the style that can't be outdone
 It's like that y'all, 'cause I'm the ultimate
 Yo, Tony Rock, take the stand 'cause I'm about to sit!

 Verse 2: Tony Rock
 MC's up north, and niggas like Spike take shorts
 Thinkin' that the only rappers live in New York
 Dick-heads like you, they don't know the deal
 Sayin' if it's not from up there, it can't be real
 But since you're ignorant and stupid at best,
 I'll have to break this down from the simplest
 See Tony Rock make a microphone check
 Now see him on stage breakin' a sucka nigga's neck
 Y'all takin' rap back? Get off of that cake!
 The only thing you might be able to take is this dick
 Sayin' weak-ass rhymes on records and video
 Grabbin' on the dick and start cursin', and even though
 You front to be hard while the cameras start shootin'
 Knowin' goody-damn well that you as soft as a fig newton
 If we was cars, I'd be a Porsche and you, a Nova
 On card games, you're Pitty-pat and I'm Poker
 I grab the microphone 'cause I can't wait to smoke a,
 Sucka like you, you no-rhymin' joker
 Steppin' on stage, and goin' into fits
 Workin' up a sweat, but you ain't rockin' shit
 Sayin' weak-ass rhymes, tryin' your best to work the fans up
 Why don't you drop the microphone and come out with your hands up?
 Just because you're from up there, you ain't got it like that
 Boy, you could be killed, and you don't want that
 I'm sayin' rhymes on a funky-ass cut
 Marquis, go for yours, because I got MY nut!

 Verse 3: Brother Marquis
 I treat rappers like hoes, roll 'em like vogues
 Count 'em and fold 'em and stuff and stack 'em like bank-rolls
 I'm never on the runnin', MC's confronted
 Always in my face, wantin' to start somethin'
 I can't keep silent 'cause I'm lyrically violent
 Step to me, boy, step off, don't even try it
 I giddy up and go, so smooth when I flow
 I make suckas get goin' like a 5.0
 Ya see, I'll massacre, sit back and laught at ya,
 And when you're finished, then I'll embarrass ya
 I'm the aggressor, the professor
 (I injure/I'll end ya) like a ninja with a lyrical lecture
 Marquis gets silky as I recite 'em
 Rappers are germs, I'm peroxide to fight 'em
 I blitz, throwin' hits that'll put you in a coffin
 Treat you like an orphan, causing you to soften
 People say I'm immaculent, but I'm past that
 Others get laughed at, 'cause they ain't half that
 They try to achieve, but can't succeed
 They only get stomped on when I stampede
 It's like that, punks, and you all know
 Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, continue to flow!

 Verse 4: Debonaire
 Debonaire, the Devil's Dad, is last on the agenda
 Talkin' 'bout how brothers constantly pretend to
 Be from up North, New York, yeah, Medina
 The grass ain't greener! I guess they never seen a
 Rapper from another region gettin' the loot
 I'm from the bottom, and got girls feedin' me fruit
 And droppin' flowers every time I walk
 Is my music identical to that of New York?
 It's original, comin' from the bottom, analyze it
 You could come off on your own, but no one tries it
 They'd rather have some sloppy jalopy
 And get called a wanna-be because they try to copy
 But see, the boys, we just laugh
 Ain't a counterfeit rapper on the Skyywalker staff!
 And so the wanna-be's bite the dust
 They ain't certified to rap beside none of us!
 And 'cause I'm strictly B-U-S-I-N-E-double S
 They panickin', stiff like manequins from all the stress
 No one there to mend; they look soft
 Anyway, I'm outta here, signin' the fuck off