[Verse One]
Chops burn the house down, we build it from the ground under
Run through your town, catch pounds and bounce like flubber
Hotter than a Stevie Wonder summer
Makin tracks to Spank that ass like thank you, can I please have another
A number of hip hop lovers listen to my disc and discover
The shit I write tight like hip huggers
Mines the type of rhymes to make your eyes bug out like Chris Tucker
Face turn the color purple like your name was Danny Glover
Makin amateurs shudder one by one, take a number
Call me Land O' Lakes cause I'm the man that makes the butter
Ill repute makin chumps suffocate, months to recover
Full throttle, lay tracks and burn rubber
Your fool's gold is gone and lost its luster (ha)
So now you wanna give me love, I got a special place for your lips to pucker
My brainstorms thunder, sucker run for cover
Mountain Brother with the wallet that says "Bad motherfucker"
[Chorus: repeat 2X]
Everybody got a mic, everybody got two tables
Everybody got a deal, cause everybody got their own label
But ain't nobody bringin it like this, so yo
All y'all motherfuckers can open wide
[Verse Two]
Y'all need to exchange your mics for somethin else
See this ain't purple rain but nobody digs your music but yourself
It ain't nothin to me, I judge an emcee by hearin if what they say is raw
Not the guest appearances your label pays for
They put it out expecting miracles, but ain't nobody hearin you
And them cats sold you leftover material
Y'all toys ain't even Tickle Me Elmo, y'all Teddy Ruxpin
Last time I made some shit like that, disposed of it by flushin
Guess what ?fan, your style is need of a suntan
You only rapping cause you got rejected from a punk band
Magnificent butcher, the one man Butch and Sundance
You know who it is, see, my crew ain't new to this
I say screw the music biz, cause most of my favorite groups
They either sold the fuck out or their label gave em the boot
Took your soul to the pawn shop, trade it to make a name for your troops
Hopin to make some loot, but only made your soup cause
[Chorus]
[Verse Three]
Now see, playa please, talk like you makin cheese, you ain't Wisconsin
I read your contract, you gettin jerked liked Navin Johnson
You rhyme about your clothes and jewelry, soundin like you suck meat
And past that, your raps is half assed like one buttcheek
Urinate in the talent pool, shallow plus a fool
From your rhymes, you can tell you took the little bus to school
Your weak thoughts sound like you allow money to dictate em
And plus, your beats sound like a kid made em when they was just playin
Made the mistake of not makin chops your producer
Try to play the big dog, now you're sayin, drop the chalupa
So while you're washed up like a loofah with no future
We singin We are the champions, no time for losers
And y'all so called independent ?staples think y'all a label
Makin CDs that ain't good enough for holdin drinks on coffee tables
Listen to the shit you're kickin, what was that, an exhibition?
You're not underground, you're just wack, know the difference
