My favorite are the rappers, the egotistical bastards
The people that never clap for your set, 'cause they think you're whacker
Than them 'cause they're the masters
I bet disaster is caused in their mind when he rhymes
and plaster their jaws shut with a fat verse
To him you're a hazard. Weak matter. A reason for laughter
He's preachin' he's live. But he's only that word backwards
After he dies, you can climb the ladder, start a chapter
Art you'll capture finally.
But while he breathes, emcees don't even flatter him
Add a tad if his acrobatical arrogance
To his gentetically engineered emotional pattern of tearin' kids in battles
That'll explain why he mean mugs. He told ya' your team sucks
Said you was a creampuff
Said you dream of choking him with that mic cord
Instead, he blows your mind straight out your head
with that hardcore tear emcees and send 'em to therapy
He says, "**** you!" with clarity. You cry hysterically
As he makes a parody of your passion
You tell your friends you think he's tight
but secretly, you hope his career won't be lasting
'Cause he's an *******. But you know he got nice sound
You know what else? You're looking at him right now.
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