Uh-huh, yeah
Printmatic, you know the name
Behind the curtain like the Hunchback of Notre Dame
I'll steal the show, then your dame
Dick her down and drop her off in the pouring rain
My mind stays stuck on filth
Black cheerleaders and trying to fuck milfs
It's only cause I got your moms on tilt
You found out it wasn't toothpaste on her quilt
Sue me, I told I was sorry
But Billy Blanks got you thinkin' that you know Karate
You need to know I play matchmaker as a hobby
I can introduce speed knots, to your body
You wanna playa hate, we can take it back to '88
My catalog is analog dog, all cassette tapes
And I hope to god that you're a scholar
Cause before I test your rhymes I'm a test your knowledge
Crush any attempts to act brolic
You the kinda dude I used to lift up in college
Hands around your throat like a dog collar
Over some small shit like 50 dollars
You don't want that dude to come outside again
For real... You better stay in the pocket
Uh huh, yeah... hah
I used to be a purist
About the records I've been coppin'
Don't nobody care about that shit unless the beat knocks
Sometimes I'm on some bassline, 808 shit
Now I'm on some old dirty drum-break shit
No denyin'
Most people listen to their music while they're drivin
So the next time you think you got a classic
Throw it in the ride and listen to it in some traffic
Make sure you roll the windows down
Be honest about yourself about how your shit sounds
Life would be better if more people did that
I wouldn't have to wade through demo's full of crap
Too many wack rappers fuckin' up the game
Too many independant acts sounding the same
Poppin' shit on the net to get a name
Give props to each other, sit around and complain
Your whole philosophy is flawed when your top 10
Is full of cats you know, and nobody that I heard before
You need to understand I'm not new to this
You rhyme for 2 bars I know all your influences
And ain't none of them tight
You all need to put down the fuckin' mic
Sounding corny shit.
Stay in the pocket