Die motherfuckers, die motherfuckers,
Cause I'm sick of the weak -ass shit
I'm sick of the weak -ass shit
Make me wanna shoot my radio out
because it costs too much
But what I will do is give
For the DJs, MCs and fans too
count how many heads of Bobby
I heard your new song on the radio,
Cause it sounded like a demo,
now if you're so pro black punk bitch
You get a nigga like crazy, see
And your shit won't sound so sloppy
I know you hate what I said
I'll put a gun upside your fuckin' head
Cause homeboy, I don't love ya
You get your mama or somebody else
Put your rhymes in a casket, dig a bed
Bury your head, cause that shit's dead
I needed something that was holdin'
And caught up with Roland
Dick Holt made the bassline groove
He got paid to sign with Sticky Move
So you better find some new ideas
And stay the fuck away from here
Now, tell your so -called su
You need to stop fucking with losers
And get yourself some juice
Call yourself a producer,
Side -steppin' like a penguin,
Old school beats get ruined,
cause motherfuckers like you
be puttin' weak -ass rhymes to them
and your horns are out of tune
Make a nigga just lose respect,
and snatch your shit out the tape deck
Cause your lyrics are way out,
you should have stayed out
Before Traxton played out
Your production is booty broke,
So you can work out of the studio
Then practice on your vocals
And stop acting like you're universal
So take your wack -ass style,
and take your wack -ass home
Yeah, this goes out to all you wanna be,
ain't never gonna be shit rappers
acting like y 'all lack jealous ass
Ain't paid no motherfuckin' dues,
But runnin' around with t
-shirts with your name on
Yeah, you hoes better try
Die motherfuckers, die motherfuckers, die
Die motherfuckers, die motherfuckers, die
Die motherfuckers, die motherfuckers, die
Die motherfuckers, die motherfuckers, die
Hey! Turn that shit down!
4.8
