I G off C 4 lyrics to blow off them Lex door
 My tex ture be the kind that explore
 MC's then blow em out  metaphor after metaphor
 I'm more wetter than your boy bigger
 So how you figure you can fuck with this rap unemploy nigga
 I should own a fly bitch house and a Benz
 But I got chickenheads criminals and broke friends
 that love to get in  keep the seventeen spinnin
 Pull out from my jaw linin, commence to split end
 Brains and body parts that motion couldn't picture
 Cause when I'm shittin niggaz hit mo decks than a skipper
 Mr and Mrs Howe, MaryAnne and Ginger
 Gilligan, you need the Professor to take the rigger
 waters out I got orders to kill em softly
 I wouldn't leave a trace if I died and police chalked me
 Who's the Boss G you better radio the walkie talkie
 For the Fatal Attract MC's that stalk me
 Got a big dick and your bitch click
 When I flip this I got more work than a olympic gymnast
 Bust it, I cut the mustard, on any track
 Milkier than Similak when I'm next up to bat
 ("Redman is on the mic and I'ma..."
 "Dope motherfucker, yeah, you best ax somebody" -- Snoop)

 (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Sermon 8X)

 Fuck the talk I walk whatever I claim to do
 Knock a mule on her ass and turn her pussy black and blue
 You couldn't run up if your Fighter was Virtua
 I'm a round-the-clock lyricist, I sleep in my work boots
 It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate
 It's a thin line between the trigger and the finger of a thirty-eight
 Deaths by far, my rap repatoire
 be the art of murderin makin it hard for you to spar
 We can chill and puff the ganja, but don't be mad when the
 Funk Doctor Spock smoke it with your baby mama
 Get off my dick and tell your bitch to come here
 Male groupies gettin shaky when I come from the rear
 Hah, that get on your nerve neighbor that play the
 music loud as fuck three in the mornin off a paper
 With mad Zul in the L-S-C
 In the downtown area, scannin the perimeter
 All my boos with the open toed shoes
 If you ain't gettin that pussy eaten right, let me show you
 Then let you taste these, this Brown Fox said
 Ain't No Nigga like the -- Funk Doctor Spock G

 (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Sermon 4X)

 As I dive into the crowd
 I wanna see who the fuck gettin loud
 Who da fuck runnin off at dey mouf?
 I let my nigga Fifty Cent knock that ass out
 Word bond, bitches talkin bout pourin out Cristal
 and Dom P they better stick to Sade
 Blackin out whylin, smackin out weaves
 Break niggaz cheap ass chains and medallions
 You're just a part time sucker in the game
 Shit is real motherfucker start namin names
 And if you name my name I whoop ass like Steven Seagal
 Give you Under Siege 2 without the fuckin train
 Let your brains hang from the 808 bang
 And if I wrecked your cipher then my Squad is to blame

 (Yesh yesh y'all, and you don't stop -- Erick Sermon 12X then fades)

 We'll be right back with some more funk shit
 for all you stankin asses after we pay these bills