Friday, March 03, 2006

You just triggered the prick who just mixed liquor
Who's itchin to leave you disfigured and stiffer than Chris-topher
Reeves, I was teething with strep throat
while your mother was breastfeeding
And gave her the flesh-eating disease
I'm iller than takin a hammer and beatin your knees
and walkin through South Central L.A., bleedin in jeans
(Am I a Blood or a Crip?) Wakin up the next day in breathin machines
Flashin back to being shot and repeatin the scenes
on how you just got smoked, and if you do live
You'll be too scared to tell it, like a Biggie and 'Pac joke

So if I hurt your self-esteem and you get dissed too bad
You know I just be sayin that to get you mad
And when I rap about a fat bitch that you wished you had
You know I just be sayin that to get you mad
"I can't listen to that song, that shit's too sad"
You know I just be sayin that to get you mad
"He'll never make it, his wrist is slit too bad"
You know I just be sayin that to get you mad