I'ma sip on it  check it out
 I got a rhyme  you got a rhyme
 But my rhyme is better than yours
 (repeat 2X)
 U A C  they get they P's and
 No I.D.  be gettin his P's and
 The Late Show  they get they P's and
 ProfessaNots  they get they P's and
 Peep the maneuver  how bout the Heim lich
 I rhyme sick and you can get the duck  coon
 I'm the shit  you're shit out of luck, tough
 I'm the act to follow, housing kids like Ronald
 Mac like Donald Goines, flows I change like coins
 Choyoyoyyoyoyyng, choyoyoyyyyng, choyoyoyoyyyyyng
 I draw a crowd like blood with the 'pint of' technique
 and everybody there be like, "YEAH!"
 Cause cain't near a nig dat'll say 'Whoomp, There It Is'
 I'm like a mom on section 8, over-bearing kids
 shit they be like, "Com-mon!" That's my muhfucka true
 Youse a hamburger, I'ma Fudrucker
 askin me to lettuce ketchup, knowin you can't cut the mustard
 So where's the beef, jerky?
 I'm as Worthy as James, not that good with names
 but I do remember your face from someplace this is one taste
 of Chicago, we got mo' many mo' many mo' many mo' flavors
 Don't just come to me, go ask thy neighbor-I'm-a-hood takin niggaz
 under
 on the tundra, cause "they're plain, they're plain" (Fantasy Island)
 I'm on a plateau that is fat so
 It's just a fan-tasy, for the fans to see
 how I land, I'm grand like a finale
 I'm goin back to Cali (why?) cause Cali got bitches check it
 Aiyyo Dart this is a sickness
 Dee-da-da-da-doo-doo, dee-da-da, ah-eh-da-da
 Dee-da-da-da-DOO-doo, dee-da-da, dee-da-da
 South Side, rock on and
 The West Side, we gotta rock on and
 Hey yo Chicago, we gotta rock on and
 The East coast, you gotta rock on and
 The West coast, you gotta rock on and
 ah down South, you gotta rock on and
 Check it... "Now you can go!"
 Mister Pussy Emcee, just get on gone
 Get on gone, you pussy MC!
 Steppin to me, with them dirty feet you'll get defeated
 like Kunta Kinte, I'm kin to, align crew
 My great, great, grandpap done been through
 so much it's in my hemoglobin to be a ill nigga
 So I figure like a father... that I'ma Turn This Mutha Out
 But Common you ain't hittin in New York
 I don't know what you thought hops, but chief I got tall props
 Some cats think I'm six feet I'm so deep
 Some stunts be thinkin I'm six-fo', my shit be hittin like switches
 Bitches, ask, why my, britches, sag
 I ask the bitches, "Why your titties saggin?"
 Put your nipple to the bottle I bust rhymes like breastses
 I can get down, d-d-d-down like pessimist
 Ring the Alarm, I got Charm like a neck-a-lace
 Tell me true statues had to move they neck to this
 Didn't you, didn't you... and it, and it, and it
 and it don't stop, bust it
 "Gotta crew ya better tell em" --> Keith Murray