[Kool Keith]

Yeah motherfucker.. that's right..

The motherfucker in the house.. Kool Keith..

Fuck all the bullshit, let's get to the real shit..

Yeah..



Your rhyme touch is soft kid

like a stripper's ass with a touch of plastic

Writin with a local style

talkin about competitive shit you never mastered

Youse a wannabe thug nigga, you ain't bugged nigga

I cut your bitch-ass up, leave your legs under the rug nigga

Who want the whiplash?

Cigarette burns, broken face hair pinned up in a cast

Me standin on the top of your tour bus

Butt-naked with a fuckin hockey mask

Slicin your cashmere with a sharp 7-Up glass

Don't you know I'm sick nigga? Lick my dick nigga!

Forty-four caliber killer gun-toter

Hide your kneecaps in a Lexus motor

Pack your stomach in a compartment

Old dingy fucked up Bronx apartment

Don't piss me off with a tec-9 loaded in a bullshit street argument

I don't care how hard you get

You just another man that never lived in the projects poppin shit

You ain't stoppin shit, fuck that Batman and Robin shit

and what block you with

Kneel down, make a nigga like you call me Big Ernest

Bake your intestines, throw your stomach in the furnace

Watch the thermostat, you ain't no fuckin fat cat



Chorus: Kool Keith



[sung] You never lived in the projects!

You ain't no drug dealer



*repeat Chorus 3X*



[Kool Keith]

Rude bwoy with a temper like a Jamaican off a Haitian boat

Carribean ruckus - with an Elvis wig

slap the piss out of one of you untalented rap motherfuckers

Bodyguards won't work

with a 30-shot car bomb under my Dominican shirt

Submachine in the duffle bag

Watchin Sesame Street with my daughter, pee