1: Masta Ace]
Every season I'm out, I'm hot without a reasonable doubt
Raps in a pleasing amount I'm squeezing 'em out
All this beef is about increasing your clout
Hot rhymes I got a decent amount and I'm leasing 'em out
With the option to own stop watching the chrome
Go home little rascal and learn that poem
When I mix paper and ink I'm making you think
It's like pouring a glass of poison, and taking a drink
My teeth is sharp they're better to eat rappers
Why you wanna keep at this you need practise
I'm well known to inflict pain, like knee fractures
If I wrote a book
You'd be dead in the first three chapters
It's a habit of mine, to put cats on a rapping decline
You get shot with a knife, stabbed with a nine
You're career's about as stable, as a three legged table
I'll put out more records myself, than your whole label
Talking all that thug shit, like you're so able
The worst thing you did in your life, was stole cable
You're too lite in the ass to be fighting the mass
I leave you right in the grass I'm lightning fast
I'm nice know, shit I was tight in the past
I throw you right in the dash like a frightening crash
You 're like Bruce Willis in sixth sense and I'mma show it
And that's cos your careers dead, but you don't know it
What is it when the shit so tight
That you can't, you can't stop do it all night
What is it when the spot so hot
That you just won't stop
Until you drop, What is it
I'm like a loyal husband cause I don't fuck around
It's impossible to get shot stabbed or knuckled down
Got no place on stage with me look around
If this was the HBO fight, you wouldn't have took a round
Must have had a lobotomy taking a shot at me
Couldn't fuck with one verse, that ever came outta me
Thought that it was a big game, 'till I spitblames
Need to walk with a cane, cause you're shit's lame
You're on the wrong road, you should've switched lanes
I'm a bit strange and I don't skip names
And you're next on the list, not a second to miss
And after the party you'll probably have sex with your fist
Consecutive this, put them little lines on hold
I can write rhymes in the darkness, with a blindfold
My shit will still be sicker fill me with liquor
Put a mic in my hand and I'll be killing you quicker
The shit you spit, you consider it, legitimate¨
You're illiterate, I don't even feel you a little bit
Walking around with your big fitted, you can get it
You're whole album's been spitted, I been did it
You dimwitted, rap style's anorexic
When you wrote that you should have went back
Double checked it, I perfect it
Sit on it like Ralph
Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth