[Produced by Rob Holladay]
I can't get no satisfaction
Why? I'm in a whole 'nother cla** of rappin'
Fast for 40 days and 40 nights
Until I walked on the moon like Swagger Jackson
It's a bird, it's a plane, it's an epic tale
They saw my names on the forums and the blogs
And they said he's a herb, he's a lame, it's an epic fail
FOH, SMH, n***a LOL
But what they don't understand is important
To statistics I'm supposed to be hangin' from my neck in jail
Or on a slab in the mortuary freezin'
With a blank stare on my face lettin' off a wretched smell
I'm from the land of the smokin' gun, smokin' dices
On the run with the Christ of the poltergeists
Duckin' d**h, chasin' life like an ambulance
Candyman, USB Flip Cam handy man
You'll never catch me slippin' on the Gra**y Knoll
Or at the bottom of a well screamin', "La**ie, no!"
I never spit nothin' lesser than a nasty cold
I'm from the era of Giselle shades and flashy gold
Bear Ballys and Girbauds and a cla**y low
A pretty dime with a neck full of baby powder
Puttin' time in, tryna get a baby out her
Pull her hair, squeeze her neck, bring the crazy out her
Beatin' it... oh oh yeah...