[Verse 1]
I'ma throw it like Santana
Jo-han, yo man is a ho like damn Santa
Lemme illustrate like Dan Hanna
What I am, see this man is a grandstanda
I'm a grand planna, and what I want is
40 acres, no mule, land in Atlanta
Sand in Havana, ran to Indiana
Then came back for the green like Bruce Banner
Used to rock a bandana
And dream of driving in a car same color as a ban-ana
But now I'm smarter than a fifth grader
Which hater wanna try to rub it in like hand sani-
-tizer, realize that I'm a lot wiser
But I won't blow my top like a hot geyser
So put away the damn camera
I don't smoke coco, po po on the damn scanner
Hoping they can apprehend, African-
American men in a planned manner
But I ain't fallin' for the okey-doke
So back away, and turn yourself around like the hokey poke
Is this a racist nation or is it just my imagination
Like the song that Smokey wrote
[Hook]
Tonight on this very mic you about to hear, I swear, the best darn artist of the year
So so cheerio yell scream bravo, also, if you didn't know, this is called Da' Pro
I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm-I'm a professional, and that's no question yo
[Verse 2]
I be the...
Gateway, better know the fact
The way that some believe the weed might lead to the coke or crack
I'mma take you onto harder sh**
This a starter kit
To bring back what is dope in rap
The game's up in traction right now
And that sh** on the radio: broken back
Or worse yet: stroke attack
You like it rough? It's the Brooklyn Strangler
Choke a track
I be hopin' that
Maybe one day, them old clubs I used to go to: open back
I'm so nostalgic, I'mma yoke a cat
Because of the fact he stepped on my Croaker sacks
Nah I'm lyin', never had a pair
Where I'm from 40 Belows and fatigues was the outer wear
Want y'all to hear me loud and clear
If you don't care for the real sh** then get outta here
[Hook]