I'm MJG  the nigga with the versatile style
 Check your calendar realize that I been here for awhile
 When I was young I took the soul up out of rhythm and blues
 When hip hop originated slowly paid my dues
 And take my shoes  and try to walk a mile in my past
 Without them salt shaker sheisters tryin to get in that ass
 It's been too long  you motherfuckers fittin to feel the south
 Shut your mouth, shut your do you little freak ass hoe
 I'm bout tired of all this damn east and west coast shit
 Especially when other niggaz tryin to work in this bitch
 I paid my dues to the fullest, worked to god damn hard
 For you too kill the industry and leave me out of a job
 You niggaz strain yourself, to maintain yourself
 And now you playin with enough rope to actually hang yourself
 But you don't care, hell, you constantly fallin deep in the plot
 Mesmerized from all the bitches and the money you got
 You must of forgot they said that rap would never last ten years
 And if your selfish to the fact, I'm tryin to have a career
 Now listen here, what do we have, we got probable cause
 To keep the pen on the paper and the glock in your drawers, nigga

 Remember back when we used to do this shit for fun
 Bein the dopest on my block made me ranked number one
 No gun, just a pen and notebook paper by the sheet
 In the crib, gettin funky off the next nigga beat
 No electronics to make the shit that I wrote the chronic
 Shit sick enough to bring vomit from your stomach
 Quick as a comet, shield your eyes from the UV
 Groovey, like a nigga from a Batman movie
 Real about the shit that I express over dope beats
 You can't say it was fake unless you grew up on my street
 Concrete head niggaz, runnin from FED niggaz,
 Po' ass scared niggaz, that came out dead niggaz
 And all I ever wanted to be was an emcee
 Did a little dirt and found it wasn't for me
 Poetry flowin through my bloodstream like a drug
 I'm addicted to rhyme because I love the buzz, nigga

 Chorus, Repeat 2X:

 My reason for rhyme
 Because I'm true to this rap
 My reason for rhyme
 Because I'm real with this rap
 My reason for rhyme
 It ain't all about the cheese
 Even though fat lp's can make a nigga g's

 Verse 2, MJG:

 My reason for rhymin, while I'm in, a position to be tellin
 It's not about the fame and them bitches who be yellin
 At my concerts, one verse, dicks up, quick fuck
 Lies start spreadin now you tangled in a mix up
 I gits up, do sits up, and squeeze my mental mindrame back in order
 And use my hand as a tape recorder
 Jottin down all the information placed in front of me
 The good time, the bad time, the way I think it oughta be
 Now follow G, can you comprehend?
 If you can then drink a shot of Hen
 Hit this hand on your silver end
 Friends don't be friends and foes don't be foes
 However the way you bring it, that's how you want it, I suppose
 I can stay up out the game keep my aim on my paper
 And I'll be sure to keep my pimpin real with Tony Draper
 And I'll potray the man that I'm known to be
 Dim the lights (Hip-tie) for the MJG

 Chorus, Repeat 2X

 Verse 3, Eightball:

 Give me a crowd of wild niggaz who love real hip hop
 And watched smoke get soaked up, like water in a mop
 Drop presidents among me and my own folk
 And let that bullshit walk among the past with ghosts
 Ain't no hope of bein takin seriously
 When limited avenues are given to me
 So, naturally I take shit and make shit mine
 Jackin only for position in this thing called rhyme
 Freestyle, not great, but if you wait for a second
 I could write some shit down that could get a gold record
 Thought about not the first thing that I think about
 MJG and Eightball and hard is how we comin out
 Runnin out, niggaz who can't hold on like En Vogue
 Even though I moved out the mound I'm still ten toed
 Down for the shit I do, the Suave House crew
 True to this shit, because this shit is so true

 Chorus, Repeat 2X

 End with shoutouts