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You guys keep on worshipping dead gangsta,
But you live in the fuckin' present don't ya,
Rather than fighting to know who's the number one,
Thou should work on yr rap cuz I rhyme like Obi-Wan.
Yr talking as if you were long-time friends while,
Two pages sooner you were pretending to be wild,
You may call this cleverness or intelligence,
I just consider this incoherence,
Are you a true rapper
Or just a MTV motherfucker
Your names are on all those MTV or EMI playlists,
This obviously means you guys only purse rapists,
You probably think your still the best rappers,
That can exist there all around,
But when you talk everyone sees your the liar,
While my rhymes hit like earthquakes at earthbounds.
While ya rap only sounds like caress and play all night,
My beats fuckin' scratch tear split and bite.
You guys stop complaining 'bout who's the best gangsta,
Cuz you found it yep it's me, go ask master Yoda.
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