| Niggaz runnin’around like, «what did he say?* |
| All day, everyday, «what did he say? «Everybody want to know, «what did you say? |
| Yo, I don’t want to waste no lyrics talkin’about you |
| Just let my body die and rot in hell why don’t you |
| You asked the same question, I already told you |
| I’m a lyricist, I do what I’m supposed to do |
| You ever wonder what Hip-Hop would have been without me? |
| I’m six albums deep, somebody is thinkin’about me |
| Whether it’s good or bad, yo, I can’t control it |
| A nigga’s opinion belongs to him; I can’t own it |
| I microphone this with my own way of doin’things |
| All my rhymes really do is provoke you to think |
| People don’t care about your passion when they comin’at you |
| All they ever see is record sales and dollar value |
| What the fuck does it matter what I’m rappin’to? |
| I can rhyme acapella and attract the youth |
| If you want to compromise, we can do that too |
| But I ain’t never in the mood to drink no wack juice |
| The bottom line is I need a bigger budget |
| Advertising is how you program the public |
| People don’t have to understand to love somethin' |
| As long as they see it enough, they just trust it, that’s why I’m like fuck it |
| I might as well do what I do best |
| And that’s rip a microphone to shreds |
| Even the best confessed, at some point in they life, they said |
| That I’m the illest, but now they want you to forget |
| So I accept the bitter with the sweet, mix it with some heat |
| Show them how to emcee, and spit it to a beat |
| I can do it in my sleep, nigga |
| If I’m awake, how the fuck you gon’compete, nigga? The nerve of these niggaz |
| I move like my shadow is weightless |
| Expose myself like a faceless, plastic surgery patient |
| Transmitting from an undisclosed location |
| Pirate stations with phantom frequency modulations |
| My throat-pistol spit ghost-signals |
| And you never get the antidote from me, 'cause I bit you |
| Stab you with a jagged crystal, 'cause my energy emit through |
| Anything metallic, even a pencil |
| Feel the bush burn, turn your cornrow into a good perm |
| My flat-feet with no curves squish worms |
| The bad news is I got a tight flow |
| The good news is I just switched to Geico |
| This is Hip-Hop nigga |
| Listen to the voice go drip-drop nigga |
| Swimmers in my saliva river drown when I give it to them |
| The hemispheres of my brain got a river through it; gray-matter fluid |
| The mic is a spark-plug |
| When I grab it, I glow, come with that Edelbrock carburetor flow |
| When I yolk back the choke full-throttle and go for broke |
| I’ve become a G.O.A.T. ripper on a positive note |
| The width of my rap, too thick to fit through the gap |
| The viscosity of my spit lubricates the track |
| Touch the VAT-lit screen, illuminate the map |
| Show me where you at; show me how you plan to get back |
| My navigation better than yours, and even though you the best |
| Hip-Hop is my house; you still my guest |
| You want more, I give you less |
| You want less, I give you more 'til you swimmin’in it up to your neck |
| Listen to the words bouncin’off the lungs in my chest |
| Hittin’you from every angle like porno-sex |
| Still here 'cause the Lord knows best |
| Last thing he said to me was, «let them know 'Bis, «I'm a let them know this |
| Nobody contends with Canibus |
| When it comes to rhymes; everybody pales in comparison (Word) |
| Nobody compares to Canibus |
| Hip-Hop is Yeng, Canibus is Yang to balance it |
| Niggaz runnin’around like, «what did he say? «All day, everyday, «what did he say? «Everybody want to know, «what did you say? » |