text: Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete
  Hard to creep them Brooklyn streets
  Its on nigga, fuck all that bickering beef
  I can hear sweat trickling down your cheek
  Your heartbeat sound like Sasquatch feet
  Thundering, shaking the concrete
  Then the shit stop when I foil the plot
  Neighbors call the cops, said they heard mad shots
  Saw me in the drop, three and a quarter
  Slaughter, electrical tape around your daughter
  Old school/new school need to learn though
  I burn, baby, burn like Disco Inferno
  Burn slow like blunts with yayo
  Peel more skins than Idaho Potato
  Niggas know: the lyrical molesting is taking place
  Fucking with Biggie Smalls, it aint safe
  I make your skin chafe, rashes on them asses
  Bumps and bruises, blunts and Land Cruisers
  Big Poppa smash fools, bash fools
  Niggas mad because I know that cash rules
  Everything around me two Glock 9s
  Any motherfucker whispering about mines
  And Im Crooklyns finest
  Representing for the queen, her royal highness
  Catch this one bubonic plague
  In your head, back, chest, arms, and legs
  When Im coming through grab your cranium for alternatum
  Son, I stay subterranium
  My subliminals mix with criminal chemicals
  Got more milky syllables than alphabet cereal
  Place your bet and your whole entourage will get wet
  Thats a promise cause Idont make threats
  Im a graceful poet with sadistic ballistics
  Above and beyond all that other bullshit
  Linguistics aggressive antiseptic
  Nerve-wreckin, concepted on consistent contestants
  My deviant deliverance
  Leaves MCs in a state of mal mid depressin 
  I launch flows like torpedos
  At any god-given episode
  I be destined to flip so much funk shit
  And do niggas better than the government
  Keith Murray wrecks this with various combinations
  Im sick, manifestation
  Oh my god, its the hardest, I make entourages
  And crews see mirages, Mary J. Blige is
  God, gotta have my crew lace me up now