[Verse 1: Masta Ace]
Every season I'm out, I'm hot without a reasonable doubt
Raps in a pleasing amount I'm squeezing 'em out
All this beef is about increasing your clout
Hot rhymes I got a decent amount and I'm leasing 'em out
With the option to own stop watching the chrome
Go home little rascal and learn that poem
When I mix paper and ink I'm making you think
It's like pouring a gla** of poison, and taking a drink
My teeth is sharp they're better to eat rappers
Why you wanna keep at this you need practise
I'm well known to inflict pain, like knee fractures
If I wrote a book
You'd be dead in the first three chapters
It's a habit of mine, to put cats on a rapping decline
You get shot with a knife, stabbed with a nine
You're career's about as stable, as a three legged table
I'll put out more records myself, than your whole label
Talking all that thug sh**, like you're so able
The worst thing you did in your life, was stole cable
You're too lite in the a** to be fighting the ma**
I leave you right in the gra** I'm lightning fast
I'm nice know, sh** I was tight in the past
I throw you right in the dash like a frightening crash
You 're like Bruce Willis in sixth sense and I'mma show it
And that's cos your careers dead, but you don't know it
[Hook: Masta Ace] (x2)
What is it when the sh** so tight
That you can't, you can't stop do it all night
What is it when the spot so hot
That you just won't stop
Until you drop, What is it
[Verse 2: Masta Ace]
I'm like a loyal husband cause I don't f** around
It's impossible to get shot stabbed or knuckled down
Got no place on stage with me look around
If this was the HBO fight, you wouldn't have took a round
Must have had a lobotomy taking a shot at me
Couldn't f** with one verse, that ever came outta me
Thought that it was a big game, 'till I spit blames
Need to walk with a cane, cause you're sh**'s lame
You're on the wrong road, you should've switched lanes
I'm a bit strange and I don't skip names
And you're next on the list, not a second to miss
And after the party you'll probably have s** with your fist
Consecutive this, put them little lines on hold
I can write rhymes in the darkness, with a blindfold
My sh** will still be sicker fill me with liquor
Put a mic in my hand and I'll be k**ing you quicker
The sh** you spit, you consider it, legitimate¨
You're illiterate, I don't even feel you a little bit
Walking around with your big fitted, you can get it
You're whole album's been spitted, I been did it
You dimwitted, rap style's anorexic
When you wrote that you should have went back
Double checked it, I perfect it
Sit on it like Ralph
Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth
[Hook: Masta Ace] (x2)