Uhhhh!!
 I wanna piss on your grave!
 make me feel alright!
 Yaa Yaa Yaa!!
 (Repeat)
 While you was eatin'
 T-bone steaks
 in palatial estates,
 ornate with gates that automate
 so those you hate could only spectate,
 I was kissing my mate
 through iron grates
 while the guards wait,
 50 cent rate for making license plates.
 My papermate pen shakes
 vibrates from 808 quakes
 over breaks
 dug outta crates
 that sag from weight
 of the vinyl plates...
 girls work till they back ache
 and their breasts con't lactate
 you're laughin' to the bank
 smilin', showin' all your plaque flakes
 contesting, contesting 1,2,3
 never shoulda been put in the penitentiary
 Boots from The Coup would like to say
 I'll shove these foodstamps down your throat
 just to block your airway
 and that's the fair way 'cuz everyday
 you're on a moola mission
 military killin' millions 'til you low on ammunition
 bodies beyond recognition
 twisted complex positions
 then their kids work in your factories
 and die of malnutrition
 see your net profit stats
 hold some murderous facts
 but if you listen to the news you mighta
 heard it was blacks
 you got us herded in shacks
 I got the pertinent tax
 how 'bout the one for when I bust my ass
 and you relax
 I'll hit your head wit an axe
 play soccer wit' your brain
 to make it official
 slice your jugular vein
 still writin' songs that my momma could sang
 and if you feel some yellow drips on your skull
 it ain't rain.
 (Chorus)
 That bitch ass on the front of a buck
 never gave a fuck
 he forced his black women slaves
 to give him dick sucks
 and when he bust a nut
 he'd laugh and cackle
 let the leather whip crackle
 send 'em back to pick tobacco
 shackled
 wouldn't give 'em nil
 so his homies stacked bills
 fought on flatland and hill
 to keep the british out the till, scrill
 kept Washington dumpin' 'em in ditches
 so slave owning son of a bitches
 could keep their riches
 which is how the war got funded
 with two centuries of juice
 from Black slaves bodies
 and the profits they produced
 you could deduce
 that these men might win
 fit right in
 and make rights then
 just for rich white men
 so they quit fightin'
 and wrote up a declaration
 protective decoration
 for their business operations
 a gorilla pimpin' nation, no freedom - just savage
 now the whole world's ravaged
 from their hunger for the cabbage
 Your fifth period history teacher
 tellin' lies like a tweeker
 bump this song through the speaker
 watch they face get weaker
 'less they righteous and they kickin' the facts
 they gon' smile cuz this shit is on wax
 one thing I gots to ask
 George Washington down in hell can you see me?
 I'm standin' on your grave
 and I'm finsta take a pee-pee!
 Tour guide: Excuse me sir, did you say you have to pee?
 Boots: Nah, I said I love it here in D.C.
 Tour guide: Well, anyway folks, continuing on with the tour.
 We're here at the Arlington National Cemetary.
 Behind all of you, right where the gentleman with the afro is
 standing,
 is the grave of of America's first and greatest hero, our first
 president --
 Pants unzipping
 George Washington
 Piss hitting the ground
 Ohh, uh-uhhhh.
 Cameras click
 (Chorus)
 Knock knock muthafucka, yes once again
 I'll make you pay for your sins
 in the trunk o' your Benz
 see youse an always fitted
 always acquitted
 parasitic leech
 cain't be burned off my back
 wit' no fiery speech
 your hands is soft as a peach
 cuz you ain't never did work
 been rich ever since
 your daddy's dick went squirt
 have you ever hurt from your back?
 ducked from rat-a-tat-tats?
 seen your mama on crack?
 lived in a pontiac?
 drank baby similac
 so you could have protein?
 (just for enough energy
 to hustle up some mo' green?)
 I could paint some mo' scenes
 vergin' on the obscene
 but I'd rather show up at your palace
 with a mob scene
 I spoke to my accountant
 who spoke to my attorney
 who counseled my financial advisor
 on a gurney
 it's about fifty dollars
 and that's almost like a sale
 cuz it costs too damn much
 to let your rich ass inhale
 true liberation ain't no word in the head
 I'm yellin' murder 'em dead
 for some fish, steak and bread
 you pay me 10 g's a year,
 I pay you fifteen million hun'ed???
 Sorry, you just ain't in the budget...
 (Chorus