[Chris Webby Verse 1] Uh, I'm rollin' up, steady blazin' good With more bars than an Irish neighborhood You wanna step, I wouldn't say you should So homie, step aside, I got 'em petrified I run circles around rappers for exercise I got the best supplies, puff puff passin' it Rappin' it immaculate, on point, accurate Passionate, every last technique I mastered it So I'm ready for war, Montagues and Capulets But this ain't Shakespeare, I've been rappin' for more than eight years Eleven in fact, homie so stay clear These new rappers think they can see me with a sentence So I call 'em out, like a teacher doin' attendance I'm nobody's apprentice, I learned it all from practice I knew in sixth grade that I be following this rap shit And back then Webby killed it with rhyme Givin' listeners goosebumps like I'm R. L. Stein Grind!
[Hook x2:] So strong on the mic Armed for a fight Never seen somebody go this fuckin' hard in ya life
[Verse 2 - Chris Webby:] You see I used to bag O's (Or Hoes) like General Mills Now I'm on a paper chase for those federal bills Cop kush in large quantity, never seen me buy a gram Hard body like Downey Jr. in Iron Man I'mma war machine, smoother than Aquaphor Killin' 'em like Ares, I'm the god of war Got some Gabogool Macaroni meatball Italiano's on the mic until the beat stalls I make 'em freefall, don't need a parachute I'm goin' in with a suit of armour and a pair of boots I'm no Bear Jew but Webby will scare you Every ligament I'm gonna tear you, there you Go, tryna outdo me, how dare yo I blow 'em out like a Jersey Shore hairdo I spit it dope of course, let me hold the torch Enough power inside me to battle Voldemort
[Hook x2:] So strong on the mic Armed for a fight Never seen somebody go this fuckin' hard in ya life
[Verse 3 - D. Lector:] I'm high up in the clouds and I'm hidin' in the NASA spacecraft With a pint of gin, product of my environment Writin' with the eye of the tiger and I've been rhyming since Well, before my first Flinstone vitamin Leave you lying in a bloody mess like Tiny Tim Legs dangling like snapped strings on a violin Tatted like Iverson, Klonopin's collidin' in My stomach full of JD, Vicodin and Heineken King of pop, I call this rifle MJ, it's frightening So beat it, or get jacked son, don't make me bring Michael in Fucked up, I might have been, shut up, you're lighter than a lighter I sound like a muscle car idling Fucking nasty, raspy as Ras Kass combined with Canabis Mixed with white trash and hashish A dog like Lassy, the type to fuck Mary K Raw in the ass and pass the camera to Ashley
[Hook x3:] So strong on the mic Armed for a fight Never seen somebody go this fuckin' hard in ya lifeTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
