[Intro] This motherfucker, man! Just won’t shut up, will you? Talkin’ ’bout I owe him Bitch, you owe me! I’m promotin’ you right now Yo, let’s put the nail in this coffin!
[Chorus] I don’t wanna be like this I don’t really wanna hurt no feelings But I’m only being real when I say Nobody wants to hear their grandfather rap (Nope) And old men have heart attacks And I don’t wanna be responsible for that So, put the mic down and walk away You can still have a little bit of dignity
[Verse] I would never claim to be no Ray Benzino An eighty-three-year-old fake Pacino So how can he hold me over some balcony without throwin’ his lower back out as soon as he goes to lift me? (Ugh!) Please don’t, you’ll probably fall with me and our asses’ll both be history (Aah!) But then again, you’d finally get your wish ‘Cause you’d be all over the street like 50 Cent (Hahahaha) You fuckin’ punk, pussy, fuck you, chump Give me a one-on-one, see if I don’t fuck you up, Tryna jump the Ruff Ryders and they cut you up And you put Jada on a track, that’s how much you suck Dick in the industry, swear that you in the streets hustlin’ You sit behind a fuckin’ desk at The Source butt-kissin’ And beggin’ motherfuckers for guest appearances And you can’t even get the clearances ‘Cause real lyricists don’t even respect you or take you serious It’s not that we don’t like you—we hate you, period Talk about a mid-life crisis, damn Last week you was shakin’ Obie Trice’s hand Now he’s a buster? What the fuck’s with that? Get on a track dissin’ us, kissin’ 50’s ass And askin’ me what I know about indictments, bite me Bitch, I got two cases and probation—fight me What do I know about standin’ in front of a judge like a man Ready to take whatever sentence he hands? What you know about your wife slicin’ her wrists, right in Front of the only thing that you have in this world, a little girl? And I put that on her, when this is all over I would never try to make her a star and eat off her I don’t know shit about no choppin’ rocks But what you know about Hip Hop Shops rockin’ spots Where you’re the only white boy up in that bitch, just rippin’? Pressin’ up your own fliers and your stickers, stickin’ Them bitches up after spendin’ six hours at Kinko’s Makin’ copies of your covers of cassette singles To sell them out of the trunk of your Tracer Spendin’ your whole paychecks at Disc Makers What you know about bein’ bullied over half your life? Oh, that’s right, you should know what that’s like, you’re half white (Haha) Vanilla Ice, spill the beans and rice I’m eatin’ you alive inside, Jesus Christ! If you’re that much of a gangsta, put the mic down You should be out killin’ motherfuckers right now Kill a motherfucker dead, kill him dead, bitch! Shoot ’em in the fuckin’ head—go ahead, bitch! Slap my mom! Slap the fuck out of her! She can’t sue you, she wouldn’t get a buck out of ya ‘Cause you’re broke as fuck, you suck, you’re a fuckin’ joke! If you was really sellin’ coke, well, then what the fuck You stop for, dummy? If you slew some crack You’d make a lot more money than you do from rap (Haha) You’ll never have no security, you’ll never be famous You’ll never know what it’s like to be rich, life’s a bitch, ain’t it? Raymond? Here, let me break this shit down in layman’s terms for you Just to make sure that you can understand us And Canibus ain’t usin’ too many complicated fuckin’ words for you Here, and let me slow it down for you So that you can understand if I say it slower Let it go, dog, it’s over
[Chorus] I don’t wanna be like this I don’t really wanna hurt no feelings But I’m only being real when I say Nobody wants to hear they grandfather rap (Uh-uh) And old men have heart attacks And I don’t wanna be responsible for that So, put the mic down and walk away You can still have a little bit of dignity
[Outro] Haha… talkin’ ’bout… I have motherfuckers… callin’ your crib Bitch, you ain’t even got a fuckin’ crib! You ain’t even got a fuckin’ phone… fuckin’ bum Threatenin’ to… shut me down at your lil’ fuckin’ Source magazine if I come back on you and attack you Bitch, you attacked me first, take it like a man, and shut the fuck up And fuck your little magazine too I don’t need your little fuckin’ magazine I got XXL’s number anyways And y’all can’t stand it ‘cause they gettin’ bigger than y’all Oh… and by the way… how’d I look on the VMA’s? When you was watchin’ me from… Whatever fuckin’ TV he was watchin’ me from In Boston…the mean streets of Boston Fuckin’ sissy Think you got us scared up in here, motherfucker Suck our motherfuckin’ dicks Oh And for those that don’t know Don’t get it twisted y’all The Source has a white owner!
