All Angles

[Intro: Prime]
What up? You seen ‘em on the TV show, heard ‘em on the radio. Prime, Rise, Gaston, C-Rayz. Wake the fuck up! From all angles. What? Uh huh

[Verse 1: Prime]
Who want to start it? What?!? I’ll put holes through your retarded butt
Then run through clubs with butcher knives for those that needed some party cuts
‘Cause y’all are fucked, your songs suck, and your vocals are sloppy
I’ll wipe my fucking ass with your promotional copy
All of y’all sloppy cats don’t deserve to rap. Y’all deserve a smack
(Why?) ‘cause every single verse is wack
Observe the facts, just face it: niggas know I’m the man
In battles, I’m taking cheap shots like disposable cans
I spit butane. I’m burning kids from blocks with acute aim
I shoot game at cute dames, unzip strippers with loose change
I’m too strange. “Damn artist”—that’s the word in the streets
I got producers pressing charges ‘cause I’m murdering beats
You cats are lame and soft and lucky my aim is off
I don’t got a gun or I’d leave you with more holes than a game of darts
Y’all cats be hating me on stages like, “That kid Prime is selfish”
‘Cause I grab my dick when I rhyme and y’all grabbing somebody else’s

[Verse 2: Rise]
I’ll be rapping in spots ‘til my casket is locked
And stand out if I’m the first or the last one that rocks
Sometimes, I don’t not care. Most times, I do (Don’t be yourself)
And no self-respecting emcees would rhyme like you (Should be ashamed of yourself)
The rhymes I do will make sure: the world, I own it
My niggas burn trees ‘til birds and squirrels are homeless
I rhyme at a higher level than the buildings in ghettos (Pretty high)
And heard my voice doesn’t have enough bass, too much treble
Still lethal with raps, eating underground wax
With features on tracks, killing notes that seeps through the cracks (Uh uh)
‘Cause I’m an ill emcee. I’m unique, I’m what the rest aren’t (What’d you do?)
I dropped Knowledge ‘cause his ass tried to get smart
Hear you at your shows when you flow with your group (And what?)
And pray that I could find a volume level lower than mute
I’ll give you the boot. I’ll leave mics and the stage boozed
You wack—songs like yours get the DJs booed
(Hahaha)

[Verse 3: Gaston]
You want to battle who? I break a rapper in two
Then look you in the face like, “That could be you”
Then proceed to scatter your crew all over the avenue
Now I’m a legend in your town and I was just passing through
Now Gaston’s a new king, teach you a few things—I’m nifty
I don’t look for trouble. I bring it with me
Have you singing a new tune like Whitney or Mahalia
Rock from the Windy City to Sydney, Australia. You?
Been known around the world as a failure. I’m the man—your girl tell ya
She looked pretty as a picture, so I nailed her
You’re so wack, your label mailed your shit back
And derailed your vocal track. The same beat with some other cat
Now who’s next up to bat? (Sick-a, sick-a C-Rayz!)
Get on the mic and bring the heat wave

[Verse 4: C-Rayz Walz]
You get moron than oxy, make sense sound stupid
No love like the dead body of Cupid
It’s them raw kids, crossing drawbridges, snuffing trolls
All this dough. Numskull, barking souls
My crew’s fly, jumping out the airplane, no parachute
We don’t perish. Truth pair and loop in clone studios
You got the cooties, yo. Drop shit like clumsy booty flow
What, he say, “Booty,” yo?
We wet-hands-sticking-a-plug-into-the-socket rap
Circle your dome with soundwave stocking caps and rocking ass
Blowing up like TNT bubblegum. Dare to trouble one
C-Rayz Walz like Harry Crumb (Who? Who?)
Your face is affectionate, embraces jack
You went to Lyricist Lounge just to take a nap
With no fear, I attack whoever goes there
Spit in your face and burn your nose hair
You a dickhead twice—that makes you ridiculous/redickulous (Dickulous)
We come through inconspicuous
Types of line in your rhyme almost made me laugh
As if that was insult like Bill Clinton wearing a durag

[Outro: Prime and (C-Rayz Walz)]
Mother. (Pinstripes and fat laces). Mother, we just had fun on the track