[Biggie Sample:] Dumb rappers need teaching, lesson A
[Chorus: x2] (I'm a b-boy) I started in the park Two turntables and a microphone makin it art (I'm a gangsta) To keep my money strong What needs to be done, carry a mic and a gun
[Verse 1:] Yo, yo, yo, I'm all hip hop nigga but all thug Slap the shit out of venus for thinking its all love A B-Boy and a gangster both officially now Have your body full of holes like they spots on a cow Since I was a child ive felt that I was fallin, father please forgive me Jailed for robbing an organ donor for his kidney Too angry, kicked out of anger management class
As I reduce once thought of invincible armies to ashes I was the type of kid had spray paint can in one hand and a nickle plated 3-80 in the other one Thats when the trouble come, when broke had to hussle some They brought my mum for questioning, she like 'not my son' I'm the man dog, done songs with Big L and RZA Dangerous as haemophilliacs running with a scissor Sit back sip your liqour you quicker than the third millenium Keep my pockets weight up, guns blasting you to oblivion Blame it on the world we're living in for coke distributing Married to this music, bout to have my third kid with it Docters delivered it to conquer any lyricists Its my turn but I made it like Texas hating the Dixie Chicks
[Chorus]
[Verse 2:] There ain't enough math invented to count ways I ain't feeling you But I show you love every day by not killing you Skills is miniscule Over an instrumental you harder to understand than Lennox Lewis talking in an interview I got inditements you dont wanna be me I spit sick youll probably catch SARS of my CD Syllable sorcery still street, any beat getting laced Left my mark on the game like that mole in the middle of Enrique Iglesias face From carrying crates for Afrika Bambaata Zulu Nation '88 I penetrated the game at a crazy rate From the place of Whitneys Houstons drug suppliers Old New Jersey made me great Of course the labels made me wait I never hyperventilate Cos they holding no weight like they hustle in outta space Nelly dissing KRS1? We gotta stop him Whats next, Beyonce battling Rakim?
[Chorus]
[Verse 3:] Yo, I'm a B-Boy but I wild on niggaz thats what they pay me for But I ain't no backpack cat wearing Jansport Your mans taught you it was silly to try me Shit wont be pretty like India Irie Me dying, ive got nothing to lose Put me in heaven with Barry White being on the hook singing to sell your cruise Over a beat or two Jam Master Jay produced Your crew had me outnumbered what the fuck was they excuse? Now I'm feeling a mess, imprisoned by my own success Fame done killed more celebrities than any bullets through holes in stess In one moment or less for my scrill you kill But HipHops like Sway and Tech flexing Felly Fell Emcees studied me well, but still Give me credit like when I tell the world I studied Kool G Rap and LL Or Forrest Whittaker naming his first son Denzel Cos people hear me all over your records like I'm Pharrell XL blowing up is probable, yet philosophical Ashanti shaved her sideburns so anything is possible B-Boys and gangstas throw ya hands in the air I'm from Jerz, the home of 'I couldve swore I parked my car right here'
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